Hello and welcome back to The Daily Poem, a podcast from Goldberry Studios. I'm Sean Johnson,

and today is Wednesday, November 20th, 2004. Today's poem comes from John Maysfield,

the late Victorian early 20th century Seafarer and Poet Laureate for almost four decades

from 1930 until his death in 1967.

The poem is called Cargos. I'll read it once, offer a few comments, and read it one more time.

Cargos.

Quincarim of Nineveh from distant Ophir, rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, with a cargo of ivory and apes and peacocks, sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Stately Spanish galleon coming from the isthmus, dipping through the tropics by the palm-green shores, with a cargo of diamonds, emeralds, amethysts, topazes, and cinnamon, and gold-moy doors.

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caped smokestack,

butting through the channel in the mad March days,

with a cargo of tyne coal, road rails, pig pig lead, firewood, ironware, and cheap tin

trays.

This is an early Maysfield poem, and it is wisely unambitious or wisely reserved.

Maybe it is ambitious in what is trying to communicate, but he shows

insight in not trying to communicate at all explicitly. The instinct of many inexperienced poets,

especially maybe more modern poets, is to be preoccupied with what they think and feel,

which is valuable. Don't get me wrong,

but sometimes gets in the way of effectively recreating those thoughts and feelings in someone else.

This poem is purely descriptive, and yet by the end we are left with a strong impression

and little doubt about what the poet, or at least

the speaker of the poem, thinks and feels. This poem also belongs to a niche genre of poetry

that I happen to have a soft spot for, and that is the poetry of lists. I love a good list poem.

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