The Schooner Flight, Chapter 11: After The Storm
11 After the Storm
“There’s a fresh light that follows a storm
while the whole sea still havoc; in its bright wake
I saw the veiled face of Maria Concepcion
marrying the ocean, then drifting away
in the widening lace of her bridal train
with white gulls her bridesmaids, till she was gone.”
(Full poem unable to be reproduced due to copyright restrictions)
VOCABULARY
Schooner - a type of sailing boat
Shabine - the name of the speaker in the poem
Maria Concepcion - Shabine’s female companion
Havoc - chaos and destruction
Wake - the aftermath of a wave
Bridal train - the long part of a bride’s dress that trails along the ground
Inland - away from the sea’s edge, into the land
Reefs - ridges in the sea made of jagged rocks and coral
The Bahamas - a chain of islands (an archipelago) that is located to the east of
Florida in the Caribbean
Scrub - scrubland, low, flat land with grass and small shrubs
Bowsprit - the pointy front end of the ship that juts out from the main boat
Archipelago - a group of small islands
STORY/SUMMARY
Stanza 1: There’s a fresh, bright light that comes after a storm, while the whole sea is
still moving in chaos; in the bright aftermath of this light I saw the veiled face of Maria
Concepcion marrying the ocean - with white seagulls as her bridesmaids, she drifted
away out to sea as the lace train of her bridal gown widened until she fully
, disappeared. I didn’t need anything after that day. A light rain was falling across my
own face, like the face of the sun, and the sea was calm.
Stanza 2: (Speaking to the rain) Fall gently, rain, on the face of the sea that seems like
a girl taking a shower; make these islands fresh, as I remember they used to be! Let all
the traces of the land, every hot road, smell like clothes a girl had just ironed and
pressed, sprinkling with drizzle. I finish the dream: whatever the rain washes and the
sun irons: the white clouds, the sea and sky are all tied together with one seam (the
horizon), and this is enough clothing by itself to cover my nakedness. Though my Flight
(my journey, also the name of my boat) never passed the incoming tide of this sea
beyond the edge of the West Indies (beyond the loud reefs of the edge of the
Bahamas), I am satisfied if my writing managed to give voice to the grief of one nation.
Open the map and look at the West Indies. You will see more islands there, man, than
peas on a tin plate - all different sizes, one thousand islands in the Bahamas alone,
from mountains to low-lying scrublands with coral keys. From this front point of the
ship, I bless every town, the blue smell of smoke in hills behind the towns, the one
small road winding down the hills like a piece of string to the roofs below; I have only
one theme:
Stanza 3: My theme is this: The bowsprit, the arrow, the feeling of longing, the heart
that lunges forward - the journey to a place whose destination we will never know,
searching in vain for one island that is healing as soon as you reach its harbour, and a
place where nobody feels guilt, from where you are standing all the way to the horizon
(the edge of your vision), where the shadow of the almond tree doesn’t hurt the sand.
There are so many islands! As many islands as there are stars in the night sky, (looking
out at the night sky) it is as if the stars all rest on a branched tree in the heavens, from
which meteors are shaken down like falling fruit, and they come to rest around this
boat called ‘Flight’, where I am now. But things must fall, it has always been this way,
on one side of the sky there is the planet Venus, and on the other Mars; these planets
fall and become one, in the same way the Earth is just one planet, one island in the
archipelago of stars. My first friend was the sea, now it is also my last remaining friend.
I am going to stop talking now. I work, then I read, sleeping under a lantern that is
hooked to the mast of this ship. I try to forget what happiness was, when that doesn’t
work I study the stars. Sometimes it is just me and the soft-scissored sea foam as the
deck of the ship turns white and the moon opens a cloud like a door, and the light over
me is like a road made of white moonlight, taking me home. I, Shabine, sang to you
from the depths of the sea.
11 After the Storm
“There’s a fresh light that follows a storm
while the whole sea still havoc; in its bright wake
I saw the veiled face of Maria Concepcion
marrying the ocean, then drifting away
in the widening lace of her bridal train
with white gulls her bridesmaids, till she was gone.”
(Full poem unable to be reproduced due to copyright restrictions)
VOCABULARY
Schooner - a type of sailing boat
Shabine - the name of the speaker in the poem
Maria Concepcion - Shabine’s female companion
Havoc - chaos and destruction
Wake - the aftermath of a wave
Bridal train - the long part of a bride’s dress that trails along the ground
Inland - away from the sea’s edge, into the land
Reefs - ridges in the sea made of jagged rocks and coral
The Bahamas - a chain of islands (an archipelago) that is located to the east of
Florida in the Caribbean
Scrub - scrubland, low, flat land with grass and small shrubs
Bowsprit - the pointy front end of the ship that juts out from the main boat
Archipelago - a group of small islands
STORY/SUMMARY
Stanza 1: There’s a fresh, bright light that comes after a storm, while the whole sea is
still moving in chaos; in the bright aftermath of this light I saw the veiled face of Maria
Concepcion marrying the ocean - with white seagulls as her bridesmaids, she drifted
away out to sea as the lace train of her bridal gown widened until she fully
, disappeared. I didn’t need anything after that day. A light rain was falling across my
own face, like the face of the sun, and the sea was calm.
Stanza 2: (Speaking to the rain) Fall gently, rain, on the face of the sea that seems like
a girl taking a shower; make these islands fresh, as I remember they used to be! Let all
the traces of the land, every hot road, smell like clothes a girl had just ironed and
pressed, sprinkling with drizzle. I finish the dream: whatever the rain washes and the
sun irons: the white clouds, the sea and sky are all tied together with one seam (the
horizon), and this is enough clothing by itself to cover my nakedness. Though my Flight
(my journey, also the name of my boat) never passed the incoming tide of this sea
beyond the edge of the West Indies (beyond the loud reefs of the edge of the
Bahamas), I am satisfied if my writing managed to give voice to the grief of one nation.
Open the map and look at the West Indies. You will see more islands there, man, than
peas on a tin plate - all different sizes, one thousand islands in the Bahamas alone,
from mountains to low-lying scrublands with coral keys. From this front point of the
ship, I bless every town, the blue smell of smoke in hills behind the towns, the one
small road winding down the hills like a piece of string to the roofs below; I have only
one theme:
Stanza 3: My theme is this: The bowsprit, the arrow, the feeling of longing, the heart
that lunges forward - the journey to a place whose destination we will never know,
searching in vain for one island that is healing as soon as you reach its harbour, and a
place where nobody feels guilt, from where you are standing all the way to the horizon
(the edge of your vision), where the shadow of the almond tree doesn’t hurt the sand.
There are so many islands! As many islands as there are stars in the night sky, (looking
out at the night sky) it is as if the stars all rest on a branched tree in the heavens, from
which meteors are shaken down like falling fruit, and they come to rest around this
boat called ‘Flight’, where I am now. But things must fall, it has always been this way,
on one side of the sky there is the planet Venus, and on the other Mars; these planets
fall and become one, in the same way the Earth is just one planet, one island in the
archipelago of stars. My first friend was the sea, now it is also my last remaining friend.
I am going to stop talking now. I work, then I read, sleeping under a lantern that is
hooked to the mast of this ship. I try to forget what happiness was, when that doesn’t
work I study the stars. Sometimes it is just me and the soft-scissored sea foam as the
deck of the ship turns white and the moon opens a cloud like a door, and the light over
me is like a road made of white moonlight, taking me home. I, Shabine, sang to you
from the depths of the sea.
