The Keeper’s Wife
“Dear God in Heaven, why have you forsaken me?
To take my husband—rest his soul—in your embrace?
Just looking out to sea now gives me mal de mer.
I wish he never brought me here. This wretched place
Is cursed! What strength I have comes from my prayer:
___That you will calm the sea,
And send someone to rescue me. I’m at a loss,
But what am I supposed to do, just sit and wait?
I try to keep the faith. I don’t deserve this fate,
I need a miracle. God, why must I bear this cross?”
But bear she did, the house of light her only lee
Against the undulating swells and gray tableau
Of sea. A gritty wash of stones and carrageen
Now rose and fell upon the archipelago
Of rock in foaming spittle. Only seventeen,
___She’d rarely been near sea;
Had never known how threatening November gales
Could be—the Siren songs that make the mind capsize;
The many tricks that Nature plays upon the eyes—
Unfurling white-caps hoisting up like mast-head sails.
The squalling wind would not abate. No time for sleep,
But duty called—to trim the wicks, to clean the glass
Of smoke, to keep the lantern glowing through the night,
To carry pails of acrid oil, to polish brass—
The chores of one whose job it was to serve the light.
___And she could only weep
As cresting waves advanced and smashed against the tower,
Their sucking ebbs a grinding, maelstrom, liquid hell.
And even if she rang it, who would hear the bell?
No boat could come; no man could match the ocean’s power.
Now when the storm subsided, fishers wondered why
The beacon’s light expired. At break of day, they sent
A crew to learn the cause. Their hope was for the best,
As clouds began to part where sea and sky once blent,
Tho lingering mist and fog still held them in arrest
___Till sunlight pierced the sky;
But when they came ashore upon the isle of Boon,
And made their way among the ledges blanched near white,
They found the keeper’s wife, a sad but scary sight
Of laughing-crying fits and starts—a crazy loon!
Mal de mer: seasickness
Poet’s Note: Legend has it that in the mid 1800s the keeper of the York, Maine lighthouse became ill and died. His wife tried but failed to keep it going. Fishermen found her wandering around outside in a state of madness. She died soon after.
Cheryl Corey is a poet who lives in Connecticut. “Three Sisters,” her trio of poems about the sisters of Fate which were first published by the Society of Classical Poets, are featured in “Gods and Monsters,” an anthology of mythological poems (MacMillan Children’s Books, 2023).
I love the psychological drama and horror of this poem, Cheryl, and the great use if rhyme and enjambement. You manage to bring out the chaos of the situation. I like the expression the “Siren songs that make the mind capsize”. We are given a constant feeling of turbulence, fear and confusion. Thank you for making us aware of this legend and for presenting the narrative so vigorously.
Morrison, there’s often a bit of truth to any legend, and as I was reading a book about lighthouses, this one captured my imagination. So glad you like the poem.
A desperate tale quickly told, Cheryl. The young widow’s grief and isolation could well capsize the mind, and in her immaturity the required labor of tending to the light might add to deranging stress rather than help overcome it. The stanza form you chose for the legend (rhymed abccbadeed) itself suggests being confined with no relief, except the cut line mid-stanza, which only leads to further enclosure. Good idea in the second stanza to emphasize unfamiliarity with the sea and the “tricks that Nature plays upon the eyes.” The third stanza’s “maelstrom liquid hell” piles ugliness upon sleeplessness, and makes the reader wonder why investigators in the fourth stanza would be hopeful. Nicely done, with occasional added artistic touches of internal rhyme.
Thank you, Margaret, for your analysis. You often highlight aspects of a poem that a poet is never even aware of. I don’t remember exactly where, but I came across the rhyme scheme somewhere along my anthology travels.
Cheryl, such a sad tale beautifully told. There is likelihood in the legend, since the husband died and she was so young, I also admired your rhyme scheme as have others.
Thanks, Roy. I think the longer line and stanza lends itself nicely to descriptive narrative.
This one gave me the shivers, just reading of the solitude, the responsibility and the grief so suddenly thrown on the lighthouse keeper’s wife.
A tale well-told, Cheryl.