Fishing on the Susquehanna in July
Fishing on the Susquehanna in July
by Billy Collins
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.
Not in July or any month
have I had the pleasure--if it is a pleasure--
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
I am more likely to be found
in a quiet room like this one--
a painting of a woman on the wall,
a bowl of tangerines on the table--
trying to manufacture the sensation
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
There is little doubt
that others have been fishing
on the Susquehanna,
rowing upstream in a wooden boat,
sliding the oars under the water
then raising them to drip in the light.
But the nearest I have ever come to
fishing on the Susquehanna
was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia
when I balanced a little egg of time
in front of a painting
in which that river curled around a bend
under a blue cloud-ruffled sky,
dense trees along the banks,
and a fellow with a red bandanna
sitting in a small, green
flat-bottom boat
holding the thin whip of a pole.
That is something I am unlikely
ever to do, I remember
saying to myself and the person next to me.
Then I blinked and moved on
to other American scenes
of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,
even one of a brown hare
who seemed so wired with alertness
I imagined him springing right out of the frame.
by Billy Collins
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.
Not in July or any month
have I had the pleasure--if it is a pleasure--
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
I am more likely to be found
in a quiet room like this one--
a painting of a woman on the wall,
a bowl of tangerines on the table--
trying to manufacture the sensation
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
There is little doubt
that others have been fishing
on the Susquehanna,
rowing upstream in a wooden boat,
sliding the oars under the water
then raising them to drip in the light.
But the nearest I have ever come to
fishing on the Susquehanna
was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia
when I balanced a little egg of time
in front of a painting
in which that river curled around a bend
under a blue cloud-ruffled sky,
dense trees along the banks,
and a fellow with a red bandanna
sitting in a small, green
flat-bottom boat
holding the thin whip of a pole.
That is something I am unlikely
ever to do, I remember
saying to myself and the person next to me.
Then I blinked and moved on
to other American scenes
of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,
even one of a brown hare
who seemed so wired with alertness
I imagined him springing right out of the frame.
posted by Elizabeth @ 4:43 PM
6 Comments:
I liked the descriptiveness of this poem. My mind had a visual for every moment just as the person speaking had a visual in there own mind of fishing on the Susquehanna. I find this poem to be somewhat bitter sweet. It expresses the beauty of art and it's remarkable ability to make you feel like your somewhere else by merely looking at an image. The artists talent of leading the observer to feel as if the painting comes to life in front of them is a true accomplishment. However, I can't help but feel sad when this person says, “That is something I am unlikely ever to do.” It makes me curious as to what this persons life is like and what it is that is preventing them from experiencing something they so often daydream about doing.
112
I feel the man in this poem is explaining how for all his life he has not experienced fishing. He is the person that imagines it and would sit at home drawing or painting it from his mind. If he would have actually done it, then what would have changed about his art work. He would have a better feeling of what it was like and how it should have looked like. By not doing this it keeps a kind of mystery to what it really was like, and he puts a different kind of view on his work. 107
This poem intregues me becuase yesterday me and my girlfried rode our bike right next to the susquehanna, but it was september. we saw the paddling team rowing right next to us. i forget the correct term for them. I also went to the museum that day just like this poet. I probably saw the same things that he did. i think that alot of people have shared his experience. i know i have never been fishing on the susquehanna but i have been fishing other places unlike this writer. I hope he gets away from his picture of a woman and bowl of tangerines long enough to do so.
-102
The author should take more time to enjoy doing something he may like. I think he wanted to fish and experience it at least one time, but was so engaged in his work. He drifted in and out of his internal thoughts as he continued to paint. Life is too short, not to have tried at least one adventure before moving on. 121
I recently wrote an essay about this poem for an exam, and I interpreted it similarly to one of the commentators before me. I thought it was about the power of art to evoke emotions and images that allow people to live vicariously through the artist's own experiences. The poet demonstrates this himself by placing images into our minds when he describes certain experiences; for example we, the readers, have no idea what his quiet room is like until he describes the "painting of a woman on the wall, a bowl of tangerines on the table," and we understand that he is a poet. Likewise, most of us have no idea what fishing on the Susquehanna in July is like either, so only when he describes the experience to us do we get a better idea of what it is like. Therefore, by purposely planting images into our minds, the poet conveys his idea to readers that art, whether through words or paintings, is able to share personal experiences that an individual would not have otherwise. That's why he mentions how the rabbit appears to spring to life, and how the painting is able to take his "little egg of time" (presumably his eye) to that moment in time when the event occurred.
*we understand that he is a painter.
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