Ambiguity

[Gyppo]

This stems from a dream which woke me at around 2 AM to take notes.  I have an  idea why the dream appeared.  A crossover from a prose idea I'm working on, but...

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Aquatic Ambiguity

Through distance-distorting depths
red-brown hair pulses gently
in tiny sub-surface currents,
swaying like a sea urchin's strands
or the mesmeric movements
of tide-animated kelp.
No  tell-tale bubbles
as the re-breather kit
works its technical magic.

A drowned Ophelia,
or an aquatic predator,
patiently waiting?

Viewed from the surface
she could be either,
and the ambiguity disturbs me.

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[indar]

Hi Gyppo,

Well, before I comment on the poem I must ask about this "rebreather kit." Is it a figment of the dream? I had a recurring dream for a period of time in which I fell overboard or found myself underwater somehow and discovered I could breathe water as easily as air. Does that mean I'm not as evolved as I think I am?

I enjoyed the poem greatly--is it a brief moment in which one becomes disoriented and thinks there is a redheaded person down there--eeeek---or is there some other explanation?  ???   ???

[Gyppo]

Indar.

First the technical reality.  The rebreather kit is a real thing.  A bit of 'technical diving' kit in which a filter scrubs the carbon dioxide from the recirculated air.   The human lung is apparently very wasteful of oxygen during normal breathing and only uses a portion of it.  Most of it is expelled again.

Re-breathers are used by Special Forces for jobs where escaping bubbles would give them away.  Some sports divers use it too, such as underwater photographers who want to avoid silvery bubbles in their shots.  I'm told it is very unforgiving of those who don't know what they're doing.

If you google Draeger Re-Breather you'll find more than enough to satisfy basic curiosity.

If you follow this Wikki link it 'dives' into the subject in great depth and can both fascinate and horrify.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rebreathe ... rld_War_II 

If Colm sees this and has ever used one perhaps he could tell us how it feels compared to breathing from a traditional Scuba tank on your back.

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Now for the poem.

It's a mixture of things.  Firstly, it was a genuine dream which woke me.  A typical - I assume -  writer's dream in which I was present as an observer, watching the girl swimming slowly across the seabed, half hidden in the seaweed.  The distortions etc are what you see when looking into relatively clear water from just above the surface.  More on this later.

One of my fictional characters, Frances, who I write about in prose, is a diver.  Like a fish in water, perfectly at home there, unlike her distinctly non-swimming husband.  I've given her a sports re-breather, but she has yet to use it in a story.  Maybe she's dropping me a hint that they want another adventure

The 'predator' element probably came from a short story I wrote where Frances 'dealt with' an aqualung salmon poacher.  If anyone really wants to see this short drop me an email, or PM with 'Frances Short' as a subject line and I'll send you a copy.)

Why a redhead?  Frances isn't.  Maybe my red-headed Muse was trying to get in on the act?  My head gets a bit crowded at times.  And those rippling sea-urchins can look very red under some light conditions

The other possible 'input' and the drowning Ophelia factor.  (This also deals with the distortions)  About forty years ago at St Ives in Cornwall I was looking down into a small inlet near the harbour.  It was a bright sunny day.  The water was very clear and the beds of weed, over a stony bottom, were slowly pulsing in and out in time with the waves.  Positively mesmeric

To my horror I saw a body, just above the seabed, face down, arms and legs in blue overalls waving in time with the waves.  With a fan of long hair moving likewise.

Within a few seconds I realised it wasn't a genuine corpse, but a discarded or lost boiler-suit, filling and folding in the currents.  The head, which was anchoring it in place, was a rock which had presumably snagged it at some point, and also hosted a fine collection of that stringy bootlace type weed, undulating. 

I moved around and studied it from several angle to convince myself it really was a trick of the light and tide and felt the warmth returning to the day.  The initial impression was horrible.

But how this all came together in a strangely unsettling dream is something only the inner workings of a writer's mind could explain.

Gyppo

 

[Colm Roe]

Enjoyed this write. Not a typical Gyppo poem, one that suggests you should venture into the 'free' world more often 
You 'show' how the aquatic looks from above very well. 
I would like to read a version where you don't mention the rebreather, concentrate more on her, making her status even more ambiguous.
Love the 'overalls' story.
I've never used one. You've summarised them well; another advantage is being able to 'stay down' much longer without carrying multiple tanks. If you have three or four tanks hanging off you you are not streamlined, have to work harder to move around, using more air...reducing the time you stay down. But, as you rightly said, if something goes wrong with a rebreather it can quickly become fatal. Usually (I think) because you're breathing more carbon dioxide; most gasses are toxic when inhaled under pressure...even oxygen! Diving with pure oxygen, even to reasonably shallow depths, is a good way of committing suicide.
Experienced divers know their limits, dive within them and have multiple backup systems. Death by diving is usually caused by human error; more often than not either old people like me having a heart attack or young people being stupid. Sensible, experienced divers rarely die under water.         

[Gyppo]

Cheers, Colm.

Can't promise I'll revisit her, but who knows?  She left an impression.

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As an indifferent swimmer I personally feel no desire to dive.  Water isn't my element.  But I've spent hours looking down into that other world from riverbanks, overhanging branches, and seawalls.  Or feeling out the hidden riverbed currents through the line as a deliberately light fishing weight tumbles along in the flow.  A bit like a safecracker feeling out the tumblers.  Sometimes you can get a very clear picture of the sudden dips and swirls.  Float fishermen get a very different picture.

My late cousin, who was my 'special forces' connection and a trained diver, loved spending his spare time with a simple snorkel and face mask, drifting around semi-submerged looking at sea life.  "Like looking through a glass-bottomed boat without having to row the damned thing around."  He was comfortable underwater.  A very precise kind of chap who revelled in technical challenges.

(I think it would be fair to say that military divers have a very different mindset from sports divers.)

I guess the sub-aqua world is like aviation.  Man doesn't really belong there, and both elements are totally unforgiving of carelessness or momentary inattention.

As a notice on the wall at the flying club used to read.

'The air is an unforgiving element.
There are old pilots, and there are bold pilots.
There are no bold and old pilots.'

Gyppo

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[Mark]

Enjoyed the poem and the discussion. Some dreams are such a mind-fuck that we realize just how filtered our reality can be. 

[Dave]

A highly enjoyable un-Gyppo-like poem that provides great images