Shark Poetry

Luxembourg Elasmobranch Organization

Introduction

In 2001 I met Clinton Richard Kowalik, a young marine biologist, at the AES meeting in Pennsylvania where he read some very moving poems about sharks and other related themes during the open session.

We stayed in contact and he was kind enough to allow me to publish some of his work on my site.

Biography

Clinton's short bio in his own words:

"I was born 29 March 1979 in Elk Grove Village, a Chicago suburb. I have moved up and down the Land of Lincoln, but have lived in Champaign for 11 years. I received my bachelor degree in Biology at UIUC and am pursuing a Master’s degree in Fish and Wildlife Ecology at the same university. I have always been fascinated with fish, especially sharks. Currently, I am studying local minnows for my thesis. I try to balance my studies with my poetry, and receive great satisfaction when I can combine the two interests. I am very appreciative of Joe’s support towards my poetry and elasmobranchs.

Ideas for many of the following poems originated from my semester abroad at the University of Queensland in Brisbane. Shark Cartilage is written about a loved one dealing with brain cancer - he is doing quite well via great doctors and many prayers."

I hope you'll like these poems as much as I do, more to come soon, here goes:

Dekuwaqa

by: Clinton R. Kowalik (11/28/01)

Degei, the chief of the Fijian gods, 'the origin of the people',

beget a son who the people call Dekuwaqa:

a giant basking shark—well over ten meters.

The triangular dorsal fin sliced the surface

and soaked the warmth. He spent hours splashing

in the froth and scratching his dark brown back

against the northern rocks to free clinging barnacles.

With crescent caudal turned side to side

and mammoth mouth gaped open wide,

water emptied larvae of fish, crab, prawn

onto crimson arches, then rushing

out the five gill slits that collared his neck.

Fishing and seafaring people poured libations

and spilled cooked meals where he swam;

he would strain the sea for food and breach near the boats.

His bed lay in an underwater cave below the Benan

temple, but, unlike his father, the great fish rarely rested.

Some called him Daucina 'the giver of life',

for he illuminated the black waters to guide

the Natewa people on their wild, night raids.

He had tiny opaque eyes that fancied pretty girls.

Then one day the Christians came

to the islands, bearing gifts of rifles,

whiskey, disease, and God. They butchered

Dekuwaqa, but his spirit still fills the Pacific.

The shark’s blood runs through the veins

of Fijians who still remember his name.

Souls of Drowned Sailors

by: Clinton R. Kowalik (4/26/01)

Schools of parrots and bream laugh

at my awkward descent

along the anchor’s chain;

skittish blacktips flee the scene.

Twelve meters under,

we kneel upon the coarse sand

of Manta Ray Bommie,

clutching ankles so not to float.

Sunlight spills into the sea, churning

blues and greens

only seen in glossy, paper pages.

A pair of mantas soar

above through my bubbles.

They flap their black wide wings.

Some say, they are the fish of devils,

or the souls of drowned sailors.

Today, they just smile,

filtering their world through their gills.

Their shadows run

across the rock and coral,

and then the rays are gone,

vanishing into the sea

as quietly as they appeared.

We slowly rise—

hand-over-hand up the chain.

Our heads break surface;

flippers and tanks removed,

we climb upon the boat

where we eat pastries,

sip tea, and wonder if

the pair of mantas were once men

who sailed the seas

on a ship now sunken

at the bottom of Moreton Bay.

The Net

by: Clinton R. Kowalik (9/10/00)

Shaded water waist-high,

Wondering what is hidden

In the sand below shuffling,

Cold feet, I close my eyes

And take a deep breath

With the seine held so tight.

Mangal Edge

by: Clinton R. Kowalik (9/25/00)

Tide slides across the bed

to reach the mangal* edge

under the cover of dusk.

The warm water deepens:

juvenile fish swim with

the sea, rising up shore;

they play in low branches

of the trees beyond reach

from shark and baramundi.

The sea licks the limbs long

into the night, but as

the morning approaches,

she slips slowly away.

The mangrove acts content,

stretches pneumataphores*,

while cold sea waves good-bye.

*mangal = collection of mangrove trees

*pneumataphores = breathing roots

Shark Cartilage

by: Clinton R. Kowalik (10/31/00)

I hardly know this man,

his wife,

his four kids,

and what may wax

in a troubled head.

His body lays collapsed

on the fold-away in the empty

family room, exhausted

from endless rocking of a crying toddler

or from popping handfuls of thalidomide

pills from the oncologist

or from months of radiation.

With a cat cuddled close,

he snores in striped pajamas,

dreaming of shark cartilage:

Makos, blues, and hammerheads plunge

into his mouth and dive down deep

through esophagus into stomach.

They break free in a frenzy

into blood stream, swimming

past the islets of Langerhans

and under the Loop of Henle,

gobbling hemoglobin on their way.

They spiral up the spinal chord

in search of smarter food

to satiate their appetite.

Inside his hairless head

grows a time bomb, ticking

to explode and crush

his four kids,

his wife,

and the man I hardly know.

Exam

by: Clinton R. Kowalik (8/25/02)

Two hours have past when I rub my face

and then itch my scalp

and tap my #2 pencil onto the desk that reads:

O’Doyle Rules and call Jennie for a good time.

I remember thumbing the lock’s combo

as the black boy peered over my shoulder.

When the chain fell,

he snatched my hot pink bike and peddled around

me and the racks of Jefferson,

taunting-laughing. My eyes flooded

and I almost screamed when Mr. Knizl

with his baldness and glasses emerged

from the southeast door. He had taught me science,

but at that moment he seized the black tip shark,

lifting him far from schooling grounds.

My teacher was beautiful

and I now wish to be him as I struggle

through molecular genetics.

I will teach science, save children,

and wear thick brown frames.