The whiskey-drunk fireman falls asleep
While watching The Price is Right,
The lit cigarette slips
From between his teeth
And burns a crater
In the inflated plastic couch,
But as per his oath
He arrives timely
At the scene of a fire,
The EMT shudders
At the sight of blood,
In the most cynical poet
There is a shining
Streak of optimism,
Because one would not
Send transmissions
To a sinking ship
If he did not think it possible
The passengers
Could be rescued.
Brian Le Lay‘s first full-length book of poems, Don’t Bury Me in New Jersey, is available from Electric Windmill Books. His second book, Smile for the Customers, is forthcoming from Brass Seahorse Books. Recent poems have appeared in Hobo Pancakes, The Rusty Nail, and Gutter Eloquence Magazine. He blogs at http://conceiveyourself.blogspot.com.
Good poem. Can I ask how the title relates to the poem?
I believe it has to do with the controversy surrounding the sinking of the Titanic. RMS Carpathia was one of the other vessels in the area which picked up survivors. What actually happened on that night is a complex issue; historical research has recently shed more light on it (and maybe overturned one or two previous assumptions).
M
Okay, thanks for the explanation.
Thanks for the kind words, Trent!
As the poet, mine is only one of many interpretations, not necessarily the official interpretation. Trite as it may sound, I think the message of the poem is one of salvation and enduring hope through the most taxing (even paralyzing) circumstances. The image of the fireman is the image of the invisible hero; he is portrayed as an ordinary working-class character, falling asleep on an inflatable couch–but he is dutiful, noble, and heroic when it is time to do the big work.
The poem is a statement of my own optimism, and the relinquishing of the cynicism that characterized my personality for many years. The ordinariness of the fireman reminds me that there are heroes and saviors everywhere, and that the most commonplace individuals are capable of heroic acts. We never know when and how we will be “saved.” We might not even realize that we have been saved by a particular person, event, or thing, until days, months, or years later. Poetry is the thing that saved me, and of course, there are a select few individuals who have saved me as well, in ways large and small, but equally important. My hope is that the poem will inspire its readers (even if only me, as I read it again) to appreciate and find the good in others.
Thank you for reading!
Fantastic