|
|
|
|
| |
MAASDAM was the name of MY ship.
Captain called it a boat, eyes twinkling,
crow's feet skipping like happy youngsters,
taped and tied Salvo suitcase, easily doubling
as steamer trunks, duly labelled, stashed now.
Cabin key in hand and back on deck to
farewell the old world. In with the new?
Thousands have come for the occasion,
colourful their dresses, hats, umbrellas,
rain jackets, this being Rotterdam in November,
and now, folks, the waving has started.
Silly I feel, waving with the enthusiasm
and the earnestness of the absconder,
to the loved ones staying behind,
but who have not taken the time to attend.
Yet, no one knows, so I wave and I smile,
I mouth words like the fat lady, leaning over,
next to me, tears coming slowly, expectedly,
dentured mouth is forming the words now,
'Bis bald', 'til soon', which seems odd,
and almost enough reason to throw her,
and her ruby red lips overboard, now.
And the show goes on, until the sound of
powerful Perkins Diesels transforms the
noisy circus into a hushed and tearful one,
an atmosphere which cannot swallow me whole,
but not for the lack of trying, as I am fresh out
of tears for strangers at that young age.
Fat lady is singing now, oh yes, Elvis, during
the days of German steel helmets, allies we are,
'wenn ich komm, wenn ich komm, wenn ich
wieder wieder komm'...', helping the lady,
back in the good book, manoeuvring her warm
and flabby body up the circular and ice cold stairs.
Everyone is climbing to meet him, the Captain,
be made to feel important, passenger number 6169,
cabin 88-B, welcome to the family of the great, the only
Holland America Line, off to New York, wine is flowing,
just a bit, Dutch moderation, with early Christmas spirit,
Spekulaas, as the band plays, well, what do you know,
Elvis, leaving town, civilian Elvis, money in pocket.
A benign, loud clunk is heard by all, and truly, ladies and,
we are on our way, farewell to the old and rainy world.
Eleven days of storms, the Atlantic Poseidon forcing
many to puke their dinner delicacies into an angry sea.
And, at 5 a.m., the army seems to have invaded, pirated
the ship, boat, I am sorry, trumpets and sirens signal that,
beware, SHE has been spotted at last, majestically,
in the foggy distance of a ludicrous harbour, silently,
the Statue of Liberty. La Statue de Liberté, so says
a rather excited Frenchman, clutching his bride, glass
in hand, toasting la liberté with a red November sunrise,
it is a cadeau from La France and his wife nods,
as if to say, nous aussie, a gauloise hanging from
lovely but bright red lips. Voulez-vous? Mais oui.
We all make small talk out of the serious business
of Customs and Immigration, oh my, the language,
problems and laughter, willkommen mein Herr,
to the free world, in capital letters, yes, okay next time,
a new beginning, leave behind the old and useless,
America, you land for my unlimited opportunities,
I love you without knowing you, just look at those
SKYSCRAPERS, do they really scratch the clouds,
yes you CAN go now, the officer says, slowly,
enunciating his English for children, and Welcome.
I take stock now, after all this.On a park bench,
no one to say good-bye to in Rotterdam, not a
welcoming soul for me in New York.
Manhattan, Central Park, and what I feel is a tiny,
a shiver, not from the Northeast November wind,
carrying over Hudson River wet-cold, no, it is,
don't I know it, a shiver of loneliness, like that of
an empty soul that has already gone to the devil.
Across the street, or the Boulevard, a banner:
Brilliant these new world colours, ad for a book,
'How To Make Friends And Influence People',
full of promise, read yourself to the success
you so richly deserve, that is me, no doubt, yes Sir,
and I AM gonna give it my best shot, soon as I have
enough of that green stuff to buy the book.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read poems about / on: america, farewell, red, christmas, success, freedom, sorry, world, money, family, laughter, river, children, happy, rain, smile, green, people, wind, sea
|
|
User Rating: |
|
1.0
/10
(1 votes) |
|
|
|
|
| |
| Comments about this poem (Freedom - American Style by Herbert Nehrlich) |
more comments >>
|
Click here to write your comments about this poem (Freedom - American Style by Herbert Nehrlich)
Lenchen Elf (2/11/2005 12:40:00 PM)
The time, , the place, bustle, uncertainty, hopes and fears as they rock with the boat, and the reality of an isolated stranger with determination in a strange land, where money is king..you've got it all, excellent H |
|
|
|
|
E-mail this poem to e friend