A force mightier than war. Heard falling
sideways underfoot and over the cusp
of everything and nothing. Inspiring
rainbows in its pillowing haze. While limbs
emerge black through sheaths of ice. Dun grass breaks
through scabrous snow. Aprille. As pilgrims’ breath
unfurls at the railing and the wind beats
up my microphone. Plastic scraps whistling
in the razor wire of thorn bushes like
opium poppies. So we descend to view
the punishing wheel, foam specks floating, light
winking through epaulets on Sayed’s shirt
while families barricade their daughters
between their bellies. When Roya sneezes
she finds herself speaking English: I beg
your pardon. Elevating to the roar
above, again, flags flapping and peering
through coin-operated eyes at allies
on the other side. It’s so much smaller
than in all the pictures! I fell asleep
driving them home that night. When the rumble
strip woke us up — another tragedy
averted.
Source: The Fiddlehead, 2015, vol. 265, p. 31
Also published in Dan O’Brien New Life. Brooklyn: Hanging Loose Press, 2016. Distributed by SPD: Small Press Distribution. Click here for more information
A sound is on the midnight deep— ‡‡The voice of waters vast;
And onward, with resistless sweep, ‡‡The torrent rushes past—
In frantic chase, wave after wave,
The crowding surges press, and rave ‡‡Their mingled might to cast
Adown Niagara‘s giant steep;
The fretted billows foaming leap ‡‡With wild tumultuous roar;
The clashing din ascends on high,
In deaf’ning thunders to the sky, ‡‡And shakes the rocky shore.
Hark! what strange sounds arise— ‡‡‘Tis not stern Nature’s voice—
In mingled chorus to the skies! ‡‡The waters in their depth rejoice.
Hark! on the midnight air ‡‡A frantic cry uprose;
The yell of fierce despair, ‡‡The shout of mortal foes;
And mark yon sudden glare, ‡‡Whose red, portentous gleam ‡‡Flashes on rock and stream
With strange, unearthly light; ‡‡What passing meteor’s beam
Lays bare the brow of night?
From yonder murky shore ‡‡What demon vessel glides, ‡‡Stemming the unstemm’d tides,
Where maddening breakers roar ‡‡In hostile surges round her path,
Or hiss, recoiling from her prow, ‡‡That reeling, staggers to their wrath;
While distant shores return the glow ‡‡That brightens from her burning frame,
And all above—around—below— ‡‡Is wrapt in ruddy flame?
Sail on!—sail on!—No mortal hand ‡‡Directs that vessel’s blazing course;
The vengeance of an injured land ‡‡Impels her with resistless force
‘Midst breaking wave and fiery gleam, ‡‡O’er-canopied with clouds of smoke;
Midway she stems the raging stream, ‡‡And feels the rapids’ thundering stroke;
Now buried deep, now whirl’d on high, ‡‡She struggles with her awful doom,—
With frantic speed now hurries by ‡‡To find a watery tomb.
Lo, poised upon the topmost surge, ‡‡She shudders o’er the dark abyss;
The foaming waters round her hiss ‡‡And hoarse waves ring her funeral dirge;
The chafing billows round her close; ‡‡But ere her burning planks are riven, Shoots up one ruddy spout of fire,— ‡‡Her last farewell to earth and heaven.
Down, down to endless night she goes! ‡‡So may the traitor’s hope expire, So perish all our country’s foes!
Destruction’s blazing star ‡‡Has vanish’d from our sight;
The thunderbolt of war ‡‡Is quench’d in endless night;
Nor sight, nor sound of fear
Startles the listening ear; ‡‡Naught but the torrent’s roar,
The dull, deep, heavy sound,
From out the dark profound, ‡‡Echoes from shore to shore.
Where late the cry of blood ‡‡Rang on the midnight air,
The mournful lapsing of the flood,
The wild winds in the lonely wood, ‡‡Claim sole dominion there.
To thee, high-hearted Drew! ‡‡And thy victorious band
Of heroes tried and true
A nation’s thanks are due. ‡‡Defender of an injured land!
Well hast thou taught the dastard foe ‡‡That British honour never yields
To democratic influence, low, ‡‡The glory of a thousand fields.
Justice to traitors, long delay’d, ‡‡This night was boldly dealt by thee;
The debt of vengeance thou hast paid, ‡‡And may the deed immortal be.
Thy outraged country shall bestow ‡‡A lasting monument of fame,
The highest meed of praise below— ‡‡A British patriot’s deathless name!
Source: Susanna Moodie. Roughing it in the Bush; or, Life in Canada. vol. II. London: Richard Bentley, 1852.
“It is announced that Oscar Wilde was also disappointed with Niagara”
Oscar Wilde photographed by Napoleon Sarony, 1882. Courtesy of Library of Congress
Universe, you are a failure, ‡‡You’re one masterly mistake;
Firmamental glories, pale your ‡‡Fires, and played-out old earth, quake.
You may teem with hidden treasure, ‡‡But we won’t be reconciled,
Since you seem to take a pleasure ‡‡In disappointing Wilde.
In the lake, as in the ocean, ‡‡Torrents’ rush, and waves that roll,
Failing to impart emotion ‡‡To his fine fastidious soul;
You may just as well, Dame Nater, ‡‡Shut up shop, to draw it mild,
As let cataract and crater ‡‡Go disappointing Wilde.
Or, perhaps you’d best endeavour ‡‡To improve your old design,
Make catastrophes more clever, ‡‡And phenomena more fine.
Dye Niagara rose-madder, ‡‡Have the wide Atlantic biled:
Then he may feel somewhat gladder, ‡‡The disappointed Wilde.
When they meet his pensive gaze, oh, ‡‡Take a ‘cute scene-painter’s hints,
Add ten leagues to Chimborazo, ‡‡To the rainbow ten new tints;
Let Mount Etna vomit lava ‡‡With a monster saucepan tiled,
So he will but murmur, Brava!” ‡‡The disappointed Wilde.
Then you might transpose each season, ‡‡Make the roses oust the snows,
Give the Tory party reason, ‡‡And the Irish one repose;
But, perhaps, the multiplying ‡‡Of the dollar-heap he’s piled,
Would be best for satisfying, ‡‡Not disappointing, Wilde.
Originally published in Fun magazine, March 8, 1882, in response to Wilde’s widely quoted comment that “Every American bride is taken there, and the sight of the stupendous waterfall must be one of the earliest, if not the keenest, disappointments in American married life” – quoted in Carr, Jamie M. Niagaras of Ink: Famous Writers at the Falls. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2020. p. 50.
Blondin Crossing Niagara Falls on a Tightrope by Joseph Silveira, ca. 1859-1860. Courtesy of the New York Historical Society.
I salute you, O Frenchman, fellow-republican,
Crosser of chasms, traverser of rivers,
Walking on a rope of hempen fiber
Above the roaring thunder of mighty Niagara.
A human miracle over a natural wonder,
You walk step by step on the tautened rope
Above the spume, the spray, the ever-rising vapor
Of the cataract’s incessantly tumbling torrent.
On a filament, balanced between America and Canada,
You perform mid-crossing an impudent somersault
Over a cumulus cloud of spray-water rising.
Small man with balancing-pole, in circus costume,
You wear a blindfold and saunter over the abyss
In the watery smells of the misty air.
You cannot hear the shouts and cheers of the thousands
Watching your nimble footwork over precipitous vistas,
As we applaud the magnitude of your achievements
Above the magnificent drop of the roaring waters.
O Blondin, bridger of chasms,
I extol your unique intrepidity
As I salute Niagara afresh in this song.
The torrent unabashed, unabated, rushes headlong to crash
Into the tumult of the diluvian waterfall,
A half-drowned rainbow spectral in all that spray.
Above it you walk on a tightrope and all the while
Blue Erie moves towards Ontario
Over mighty Niagara falling, night and day.
First published in his collection Voice Mail, 2002
This poem was inspired by the painting by Silveira at the top of the page.
Poet Duncan Forbes is the author of seven collections, the most recent of which is Human Time (2020) His poems have appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies and have been published by Faber, Secker and Enitharmon who brought out a Selected Poems in 2009.
Born and educated in Oxford, he has taught English Language and Literature for many years and – apart from writing poetry – is also interested in painting and the visual arts. Duncan has written essays and articles on a variety of subjects.
