Thanks to both of you for the interesting information. I think fish is delicious, but somehow it does not seem much like Christmas to me.

'I am just wondering if the carp is the right creature.'

I guess the turkey doesn't seem much better waiting on the chopping block to lose its head.

We do some fishing here as well, Penelope, and we have a wooden tool for hitting the fish on the head which we call the fish bonker.

That was a very strange ending to me, the poet picturing an animal having an ecstatic reaction to being sacrificed. That's not the way I see any animal going out of this world...but I suppose it could make us feel better to think so.

Is it really called a fish bonker? It's a good name for such an object. I gave up fishing because I came to feel bad about having to kill the fish I caught. It didn't seem right just to let them suffocate slowly, so, yes, some kind of bonker had to be used to dispatch them more quickly. Fish are such beautiful creatures. I still don't mind at all eating them, I just want someone else to be the executioner.

Brief reflection on killing the Christmas carp

By Miroslav Holub 1923–1998 Miroslav Holub

...
I am just wondering if the carp is the right creature.


A far better creature surely would be one
which—stretched out—held flat—pinned down—
would turn its blue eye
on the mallet, the knife, the purse, the paper,
the watchers and the chimneys
and Christmas,


And quickly


say something. For instance


These are my happiest days; these are my golden days.
Or
The starry sky above me and the moral law within me,
Or
And yet it moves.


Or at least
Hallelujah!

I doubt a turkey would do. He's looking for a creature that would bring some dignity to the moment just before it dies and somehow a turkey doesn't cut it any more than a carp. I can't imagine having carp for Christmas dinner, its a lowly bottom feeder in my books. Now maybe some nice salmon?

It must be unbelievably tricky to hold a flipping about fish, and a knife and a mallet and then whack the knife and kill the fish without losing a finger in the process. I'm sure that people watching admire the 'dexterity' as he says.

DWill: yes I agree bonking them is far better than letting them suffocate slowly but it is a grim task, particularly because you have to hold the fish down with one hand while bonking with the other and this direct contact and violent force makes one feel very much 'the executioner' ... it is definitely something you want to do right the first time so you don't have to re-bonk ...

Dawn Walkers

Anxious eyes loom down the damp-black streets
Pale staring girls who are walking away hard
From beds where love went wrong or died or turned away,
Treading their misery beneath another day
Stamping to work into another morning.

In all our youths there must have been some time
When the cold dark has stiffened up the wind
But suddenly, like a sail stiffening with wind,
Carried the vessel on, stretching the ropes, glad of it.

But listen to this now: this I saw one morning.
I saw a young man running, for a bus I thought,
Needing to catch it this murky morning
Dodging the people crowding to work or shopping early.
And all the heads stopped and turned to see how he ran
To see would he make it, the beautiful strong young man.
Then I noticed a girl running after, calling out 'John'.
He must have left his sandwiches I thought.
But she screamed 'John wait'. He heard her and ran faster,
Using his muscled legs and studded boots.
We knew she'd never reach him. 'Listen to me, John.
Only once more' she cried. 'For the last time, John, please wait,
please listen'.
He gained the corner in a spurt and she
sobbing and hopping with red hair loose
(Made way for by the respectful audience)
Followed on after, but not to catch him now.
Only that there was nothing left to do.

The street closed in and went on with its day.
A worn old man standing in the heat from the baker's
Said 'Surely to God the bastard could have waited.'

Jenny Joseph

Good poem. I like the way the beginning sets the mood for the narrative. The old man also, assumes fault on the young man's part, but who knows what he was running from?

Is it really called a fish bonker?

My family has always called it this, but I am not sure about widespread usage of the term.

I think this poem is really well structured in that the specific scenario flows smoothly from the stage set in the first 2 stanzas and then it's wrapped up cleanly with the crowd going about their day having shared a dramatic vignette on an otherwise ordinary morning.

As to the old man’s comment, I wondered as well. Why should strangers in a crowd assume that ‘it’s’ the young man’s fault when they don’t even know what ‘it’ is? They see the ‘how’ not the ‘why’ but that doesn’t stop the old man from passing judgment. And we don’t know if the old man’s sentiment is shared by others in the crowd? We are left to wonder why John is running and doesn’t respond to her appeals, with our only clue being the first stanzas. This leaves a lot to the imagination and I think that is a good thing in poetry.

I wasn’t sure about the ‘bonker’ either but apparently ‘fish bonker’ is the real, accepted term, but I think it might be a 'local' Canadian term … here’s a couple ads for ‘bonkers’ (sometimes used for creatures other than fish I guess, maybe not advisable though) …

Great gifts for hikers, hunters, fishers and outdoor enthusiasts.
Uses: Fish bonker, Cougar and Bear bonker (use at own risk), Conversation piece, Persuader, Wall hanging, Shillelagh.

FISH BONKER #100 SMALL
The Small FISH BONKER is made from kiln-dried wood that will float if dropped overboard and, with its unique design, will not roll about in your boat. Approximately 12" in length.

I found this in a lovely cookery book at the shop today. What a treasure!!

Cooking is not a mystery.
The more heart we put out
the more heart we put in.
To bring cooking alive
we give our life. Giving
our life willingly we don't
get put out.
Washing cutting cooking cleaning,
exploring ways to give life to our life.
Not knowing already how and what to do,
practice feeling it
out of what is not known
through the warmth and anxiety,
not sticking to a particular way,
insisting it is the only way
even though it is quite good;
open to feeling the various possibilities,
the tentative ways of giving life to our life.

To feel out our left hand, our back, our toes,
to feel out our breathing, our movements, our stance,
this is our freedom, this is our wisdom.
The mystery is that it is possible to do
what we don't know how to do.

through the warmth and anxiety,
not sticking to a particular way,
insisting it is the only way
even though it is quite good;

These are the verses which gave it dings for me.

I enjoyed your 'cookery poem' Penny. I especially like the fact that you call it a 'cookery book' not just plain old 'cookbook'. I guess 'cookery' goes with 'crockery', eh? There is plenty to learn from cooking that is valuable in life. And their are many aspects of life where parallels can be found in cooking. But I guess this should be so because food, and the production of it, is quite central to our lives and cultures.

giselle wrote:I enjoyed your 'cookery poem' Penny. I especially like the fact that you call it a 'cookery book' not just plain old 'cookbook'. I guess 'cookery' goes with 'crockery', eh? There is plenty to learn from cooking that is valuable in life. And their are many aspects of life where parallels can be found in cooking. But I guess this should be so because food, and the production of it, is quite central to our lives and cultures.

Exactly! Thanks for saying it Giselle.

giselle wrote: But I guess this should be so because food, and the production of it, is quite central to our lives and cultures.

Yes, and a big part of our Christmas celebrations here. We will being a lot of cooking and eating at my house over the next week.