Poem: Cook's Dream

Wednesday, June 19, 1996 - 10:00

"... [they] set no value on anything we gave them.

nor would they ever part with any thing of their own

for any one article we could offer them ..."

For him the sea was another sky

And the sky another sea

Deep as wishing wells and both

As big as blue can be

Sleeping rocked in his cradle-ship

With a compass by his bed

His mind was painting landscapes

The size of continents in his head

He imagined a land with soil so red

That it bled before your eyes

With trees so full of wondrous birds

That were laughing with their cries

With a sun so low it warmed your feet

That was melting heavy as gold

With lizards and rocks that spoke in tongues

Each a million years as old

Then we saw it through his looking glass

From his vantage on the deck

And ordered all hands to head for shore

Be it risk of ruin or wreck

When he placed his foot upon the dirt

It was with no trepidation

And with single-minded bloodiness

He thought It feels like a new nation

But this was before he saw the feet

That shared ground with his two

They were bare and black and wary

Of this strange man and his crew

Greetings he said Hello, how are you

We are from across the sea

But they just looked and frightened him

So that he was dying for a pee

He was however a captain

And put his duty before all

So tightened up his bladder

And got rolling with the ball

We have come he said to claim this place

A wasteland and paradise

For the monarchy of our fair land

I hope these baubles will suffice

He offered them biscuits made of crumbs

He offered them buttons and boots

He offered the very tops of trees

And finally even the roots

He was succinct, polite and even suave

And smiled five times a minute

And though the smiles were returned incalculably

For the rest they would not be in it

They handed back the bells and beads

They handed back the jackets

They even returned incuriously

Things still unwrapped from packets

Back on board he wrote in his log

Of all he had to tell:

My recording of the nothingness

Is going very well

There is some doubt he further wrote

Of exactly what was proffered

They seemed not to perceive the value

Of the riches that we offered

It is also clear they did not exist

Before our arrival here today

For the land untouched and wild

Would not have allowed them any way

They have simply sprung up bodied

As people do in dreams

To deliver certain messages

And make all as it seems

I listened well to each small sound

To the movements of their hands

Which motioned agitatedly

Towards our rowboats on the sands

This seemed a sign he scribbled down

To give the order to unpack

So I called a lad to grab a pole

And hoist the Union Jack

He tossed and turned upon his bunk

For from here the dream turned nasty

As if it lasted for two hundred years

Of incidents vile and ghastly

A storm blew upon the sea

And tipped him to the floor

Where he sat confused rubbing his eyes

As if they wondered what they saw

He had dreamed he discovered a new country

But woke before the end came true

So never found what happens if

You do something you are not able to ...

MTC Cronin