.
The Southern Cross
The caravels escaped at last
The roiling tides of Bojador
And entered tropic seas far past
What any chart described before—
__An unknown world to cross.
Strange southern seas! Unending miles
Of blue, both sea and sky, stretched bare.
The bights and capes, the shoals and isles
Unmapped, unnamed, wild everywhere—
__The helmsman at a loss.
And gazing where they once relied,
They glimpsed an alien night sky
That gave no comfort, hope, or guide,
Filled with stars no northern eye
__Had ever come across.
The stars they knew, by which they came,
Retreated. Now where could they turn?
No south pole-star shone worth the name.
What guiding star could they discern?
__And then they glimpsed a cross:
Four stars ablaze, intensely bright,
A lesser fifth piercing their side,
Commanded that strange star-strewn night,
Pointing straight south, the only guide—
__A shining Southern Cross.
The sign that guided them in prayer
Would guide them through the unknown waves.
In answer, Heaven deigned to bear
The Holy Wounds, the sign that saves:
__The blazing Southern Cross!
And as those ships coursed, battered, tossed,
On seas where all paths seemed to stray,
And wandered, desperate and lost,
In Heaven’s lights they found their way,
__Led by the Southern Cross.
.
.
Adam Sedia (b. 1984) lives in his native Northwest Indiana and practices law as a civil and appellate litigator. In addition to the Society’s publications, his poems and prose works have appeared in The Chained Muse Review, Indiana Voice Journal, and other literary journals. He is also a composer, and his musical works may be heard on his YouTube channel.
I love this poem’s imagery, with the unknown seas and unknown sky thematically reflecting each other. It becomes especially riveting as the story moves into the sailors’ glimpse of the cross. I thought the very most moving lines were, “A lesser fifth piercing their side”, and “… Heaven deigned to bear / The Holy Wounds… ” (Not to mention the vocabulary lesson — I’ve learned quite a few new words on this site; I had to look up “caravel” and “bight”.) Thank you, Adam.
Thank you!
I like the simple voice to this poem that carries it along at an adventurous pace.
It has the feel of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner about it and conjures up all the right, Golden Age of Exploration, imagery.
Thanks for the read, Adam.
Beautiful portrayal of the Southern Cross with excellent rhyme. We are blessed by such an image.
I am drawn to anything astronomical or astrophysical, and I am especially drawn to well-executed and painstakingly fulfilled nonce forms. I once spent a few weeks in Mexico, camped in desert barrens, where I got to observe constellations not readily seen farther north, such as Leo. I never went far enough south to see the Southern Cross, but I was quite familiar with the Northern Cross, also known as Cygnus.
I notice that my poems on astronomical subjects always get a good reception. I’d like to write more of them. Astronomy was a childhood interest of mine that fell by the wayside. Now my son’s interest in all things astronomical has rekindled that lost interest in me.
Adam,
A striking poem reminiscent of your previously-posted, shanty-like Cape Horn.
As you well know, the cross appears on the flags of both New Zealand and Australia (among others) with New Zealand’s bearing four stars and Australia’s adding the fifth.
Having seen it myself, I can attest to it being the preeminent constellation in the southern hemisphere and one that guided both new adventurers from Western Europe beginning in the early 15th century as well as the Polynesians who had sailed the south Pacific for centuries before the arrival of the White Cloud ships that represented a world previously unknown to them.
A marvelous poem that provides a glimpse into the uncertainties, the dangers and the sheer terror faced by those early European explorers; a poem in which I daresay I can actually smell the salt spray thrown up from the bows of those fragile, bobbing caravels as they sailed those fathomless, seemingly infinite southern seas.
I am flattered by your comment, and I appreciate the reference to “Cape Horn.” I am about as land-lubberly as they come, being from Indiana (Lake Michigan notwithstanding), so everything I know about navigation and seafaring comes from books. I take it, therefore, as no small compliment when I hear you say that you can smell the salt spray in the work.
A wondrous celestial poem in quest-and-answer format, with the first half plainly exhibiting the distress of adventurous sailors, and the second half comforting them with a sign, and inspiring them through its already-known qualities. They know the cross because it is the principal sign of their religion. They not only see the shape, but recognize it as the Cross of Jesus their Savior, being formed not of four stars, but of five that seem to represent His five wounds. The Five Wounds were important in art and devotion in the late medieval period, especially in England. This was the culture some sailors may have come from, though it had been bloodily repressed in England. I can easily imagine the excitement at apparently seeing the sign in the heavens–something like the Wise Men at last seeing an unknown star that they knew (not by experience) would signal the birth of a Great King. Adam, you deftly combine navigational discovery with devotional recognition and surprised relief to make this well-done descriptive poem an emotional marvel.
Thank you! You perfectly describe the dual purpose of the poem and the image I wished to convey. I had in mind more the Portuguese and Spanish explorers than the English ones, but as you say the repressed “old religion” still had powerful echoes post-Reformation (including the Shakespearean expletive ‘zounds).
A wonderful and mystical poem, Adam. Although your form is more complex, I am reminded of St John Lucas’ The Ship of Fools’ which ends:
At length, at length, dauntless wills,
O dreamers’ hearts that naught could tame,
Superb amid majestic hills
The domes of Eldorado flame!
Great writing, thanks.
Thank you! (And “The Ship of Fools” is a hidden gem. I’m delighted you quoted it.)
A very fine poem, and I notice that Sedia uses sibilant (S) alliteration throughout, but not so much as to be distracting:
Strange southern seas! … (quatrain 2)
sea and sky, stretched bare … (quatrain 2)
No south-pole star shone … (quatrain 4)
strange star-strewn (quatrain … 5)
the sign that saves … (quatrain 6)
On seas where all paths seemed to stray … (quatrain 7)
There are also “straight south” and “What guiding star could they discern?”
I’d guess that the S alliteration is there to suggest the movement of water against the ship’s sides as it cuts through the sea, or the spray of water in the mariners’ faces. The same can be seen in Joaquin Miller’s great poem “Columbus” —
Before him not the ghost of shores,
Before him only shoreless seas.
You observe one of the poem’s very fine points, although I confess I didn’t have that particular effect in mind (but it works marvelously in retrospect). I try to make use of alliteration whenever tastefully possible, as it ranks along with meter itself as one of the earliest and longest-used poetic devices.