August 10, 1818
Commander John Ross and Lieutenant William Parry,
Officers of the Royal British Navy,
Stand resplendent in cocked hats and tailcoats,
White-gloved, with swords at their belts,
Buckled shoes sinking into the snow
As they stand meeting a band of Eskimos
In Melville Bay, Greenland,
Their two square-rigged ships at anchor behind,
As they shiver in regulation wool and broadcloth.
The icebound sea coruscates with palaces
And castles, weird statues and phantom monuments,
Slightly out of focus, perhaps only a dream,
Emerald, azure, indigo and alabaster.
The Englishmen and the Eskimos stand staring,
Equally amazed at each other,
And the Eskimos ask, in a dialect so obscure
The interpreter can barely understand it:
“Where are you from? The sun or the moon?”
Then they address the ships as living beings
For they have seen their wings move.
They spit out the biscuit they are offered,
And shrink from their reflections in a hand-mirror,-
What kind of monster is this?
Shown a watch, they wonder if it is alive,
And is it good to eat?
The interpreter makes them doff their caps
In deference to the Englishmen,
And they obey cheerfully, mystified by the ritual.
Meanwhile, the navy men, wandering round,
Find themselves drawn hypnotically
To certain stones in view, bewildered
When what seems half a mile away
Turns out to be a minute’s stroll.
Pink blush of a hard frost, and pastel shades
Of the northern heavens, where the aurora
Showers, trickles and pulsates down the darkness,
Huge illuminations streaming and shooting,
Silently rushing...
Icebergs seem to float in mid-air,
Other icebergs upside-down on top of them,
Protean apparitions proliferate on all sides.
Ships float in the concave of a vast sphere
And doppelgangers wander through the mind.
Whirlwinds shoot skyward from hilltops,
Spraying white clouds into the air.
Solid foam-masses lash the capes,
Breaking over icebergs, fogging the sea,
Rising and falling with each gust.
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