Transitory Space, Circle Rock, Nova Scotia, Canada by Leah Oates
Under The Bridge to Harstine Island
Under the skin
There is soil
The green gray landscape crowded together as we sat under the bridge to Harstine Island, our poles
straight and lines out. The trick is to cast out close enough to the cement piling of the bridge.
Above comes the occasional buzz and slap of cars moving across wet pavement. But in the bridge’s
shadow, out of the drizzle, only the water mattered, and the invisible fish.
Under the soil
Lay the bones
What brings a fish to the surface? Under the gray green water it waltzes, pirouettes. And above, it
shoots, flickers for a moment, and clumsily trips back.
Under the bones
Lay the stones
Those pilings, like barnacled sea beasts, stood straight, unwavering in the morning air. The tide
either halfway up or down, and you could smell the stink and wonder of the ocean. The cement’s
surface, under a definite point, was covered with green weeds, star fish, and anemones. No telling
how deep the water was at that spot: twenty, thirty, fifty feet. The channel waters were swift there.
As the tides turned the water would bunch up and flow around from one side of the piling in the
morning to the other side in the afternoon. A good strong cast could get your line out there,
but in the shadow of the bridge you could never keep track of how much line you used.
Under the stones
Lay the words
The tip of the pole jerks slightly once or twice then bends almost double as ocean test is pulled taut
and strained. The fish swims straight away from shore and stays in deep water. Reel in and let out,
always in a straight line away. He waits for the leap into the air, the jerking of his prey into the
atmosphere. The contest is fierce and good, but in the end, without a leap, the fisherman knows
before it is landed, what the fight of a dog fish is like.
Under the words
The meaning lies in wait
Net in hand, and ready to be disappointed, he bends down over the water. The reel is locked, his
prey no longer able to pull it out. It is only then, the rainbow scales.
About the author:
Marc Janssen coordinates the Salem Poetry Project and Salem Poetry Festival. He is a 2020 Oregon Poet Laureate nominee and his poetry is scattered around the world in places like Penumbra, Slant, Cirque Journal, Off the Coast and The Ottawa Arts Journal.
In the artist’s words:
I (Leah Oates) recently had a solo and several group shows in Toronto 2019 at Black Cat Artspace and recently had additional group shows in Toronto at the Gladstone Hotel, John. Aird Gallery, Connections Gallery, Propeller Gallery, Arta Gallery and at the Papermill Gallery. I have an solo shows planned in Toronto for Spring 2020 at the Wychwood Barns Community Gallery and at the Yorkville Library. This series was featured from 2016-2017 as part of the MTA Arts and Design Light Box Project at 42nd Street in New York City. I’ve had solo shows at venues such as Susan Eley Fine Art, The Arsenal Gallery in Central Park, The Brooklyn Public Library, The Center for Book Arts, Tomasulo Gallery, Real Art Ways, and at the Sol Mednick Gallery at the Philadelphia University of the Arts and national and international solo shows at Anchor Graphics, Artemisia Gallery and Woman Made Gallery in Chicago, Illinois and at Galerie Joella in Turku, Finland. My work has been in group shows in NY City and state at the Schweinfurth Art Center, Brooklyn’s Prospect Park, Nurture Art Gallery, Metaphor Contemporary Art, Denise Bibro Fine Art, Yale University, The Pen and Brush and at The Center for Book Arts and nationally at Bob Rauschenberg Gallery in Florida, Unsettled Gallery in New Mexico, The Southeast Center for Photography in South Carolina and at Nave Gallery in Massachusetts.
Portfolio link:
www.leahoates.com
