Song of the Whale (By Rody Gorman)
On Cape Farewell’s Song of the Whale, the last
Leg on the journey up north, near to home,
Fastmoored at first light, our little cabin
Might as well be a black township under fire.
Pitching and rocking back and forth in the berth,
I turn down my iPod and go to look out
The starboard porthole on to the Sound of Rum
And the Cuillinn Sound under phosphorescence,
Clearas Aurora borealis. In my head an Ohrwurm
Or iorram goes round and round: a long sea shanty chorus,
All these old Jack tars heaving and hauling on
Capstans and windlasses and winches, the Lower Minch
Over on the far side, the call and response.
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