Twila Sharpe: “Bolivar, 1915″
Monday, January 19th, 2009On February 3, 1845, the Republic of Texas earmarked funds for the establishment of a lighthouse on the eastern end of Galveston Island Texas , and the federal government assumed responsibility for navigational aids in Texas …The lighthouse was moved to Bolivar Point, located on the opposite side of the entrance to Galveston Bay , at the western end of the Bolivar Peninsula
The Great Hurricane of 1900 inundated Galveston Island
A similar scene played out during the hurricane of August 16-17, 1 915, when sixty people were forced to seek protection on the tower’s spiral staircase. Assistant keeper J. P. Books, who stood watch in the lantern room during part of the storm, reported that the top of the tower “shook and swayed in the wind like a giant reed.”
“Boliver, 1915″ (c) 2008 by Twila Sharpe was inspired by that event, and is used here by her kind permission.
(Above is an Excerpt from http://www.lighthousefriends.com/light.asp?ID=152. For more history of the Bolivar Lighthouse , please visit this link!)
Port Bolivar Lighthouse as photographed by Astroswin on Dec. 31, 2008. Used by kind permission.
“Bolivar, 1915″‘I shall stand the night-man’s watch
While about me rages a spiteful wave
Whose undaunted caps crash; crash
Across the bow which cuts a splendid notch;
Like a Devil’s tongue that seeks to lash
The undulating rails of iron and stave.’ **
‘J.P. must man the Fresnel: Order, Third;
Soon, disperse to sea its fractured beam,
Should a ship on swell rise; rise
And, not see the tower, stripes a-gird,
Where the base, beneath an ocean guise,
Is a match for rivets and scalding steam.’
I am sure that reeds shake–sway
In a gale–for J.P. has told it true.
‘Inescapable tomb’, J.P. felt; felt
Her impending doom: ‘She falls this day!’
As though column old–which took the pelt
Of a sandless-bottom Bay–was through.
‘J.P. thus turns the prism, hand-over-hand:
This defective, unyielding crank
That machinery still broke; broke
Since The Galveston Flood immersed land–
To deposit charnel chambers full of folk,
Underneath a crowning tidal bank.’
‘We shall gather–young, old, frail–
On compliant, spiral steps in twos;
Oh, the wind! Alive, fierce, fierce…
For, in Ten and Five, a stronger gale
Has this armored obelisk to pierce:
It be sixty-one in this refuge.’
‘I have housed souls lost; swept
From around this point, beyond the Bay.
Far adrift, all tanks blew…blew.
The kerosene afloat–no more was kept
At its foot–still, jet and nozzle spew
An indistinctive vapor, misting the spray.’
‘We shall ration tins–meat, beans,
All our store–until gone!’ Gone
Are those souls who late did pound this door–
That, a dozen found, did make us weep,
And, all dread the thought: ‘there might be more.’
It was J.P., who held Assistant Keep;
He, who saw the first approach of dawn… ‘
I intend to come again, when sun
Is descending low and clouds have flown.
If a current of air warms… warms
Them aloft, where gulls have willful spun
Their illusive wings to dive the swarms
Of insects that mowers leave unsown…
I will bring my paints to color stripes
That were black and white like barber poles.
Then, away the kohl rust; rust
Should be ferrous red, this artist gripes!
Yet, Bolivar, languishes, needing Trust
To facilitate its owner’s goals…
I will dream the written words of men,
Whom, their tale of woes, in journals wrote.
When, in days of yore, came…came
To this shore, a tropic scourge, again.
‘Twas J.P. and Harry kept the flame,
As, by Jove, the Pharo light was smote.
C. 2008. Twila.
**In the first stanza, the ‘watchman’ likens the top of the tower to a ship at sea during a gale.
While about me rages a spiteful wave
Whose undaunted caps crash; crash
Across the bow which cuts a splendid notch;
Like a Devil’s tongue that seeks to lash
The undulating rails of iron and stave.’ **
Soon, disperse to sea its fractured beam,
Should a ship on swell rise; rise
And, not see the tower, stripes a-gird,
Where the base, beneath an ocean guise,
Is a match for rivets and scalding steam.’
In a gale–for J.P. has told it true.
‘Inescapable tomb’, J.P. felt; felt
Her impending doom: ‘She falls this day!’
As though column old–which took the pelt
Of a sandless-bottom Bay–was through.
This defective, unyielding crank
That machinery still broke; broke
Since The Galveston Flood immersed land–
To deposit charnel chambers full of folk,
Underneath a crowning tidal bank.’
On compliant, spiral steps in twos;
Oh, the wind! Alive, fierce, fierce…
For, in Ten and Five, a stronger gale
Has this armored obelisk to pierce:
It be sixty-one in this refuge.’
From around this point, beyond the Bay.
Far adrift, all tanks blew…blew.
The kerosene afloat–no more was kept
At its foot–still, jet and nozzle spew
An indistinctive vapor, misting the spray.’
All our store–until gone!’ Gone
Are those souls who late did pound this door–
That, a dozen found, did make us weep,
And, all dread the thought: ‘there might be more.’
It was J.P., who held Assistant Keep;
He, who saw the first approach of dawn… ‘
Is descending low and clouds have flown.
If a current of air warms… warms
Them aloft, where gulls have willful spun
Their illusive wings to dive the swarms
Of insects that mowers leave unsown…
That were black and white like barber poles.
Then, away the kohl rust; rust
Should be ferrous red, this artist gripes!
Yet, Bolivar, languishes, needing Trust
To facilitate its owner’s goals…
Whom, their tale of woes, in journals wrote.
When, in days of yore, came…came
To this shore, a tropic scourge, again.
‘Twas J.P. and Harry kept the flame,
As, by Jove, the Pharo light was smote.
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