Catfish

Lazy stadium night
Catfish on the mound.
Strike three, the umpire said,
Batter have to go back and sit down.
Catfish, million-dollar-man,
Nobody can throw the ball like catfish can.
Used to work on mr. finleys farm
But the old man wouldnt pay
So he packed his glove and took his arm
An one day he just ran away.
Catfish, million-dollar-man,
Nobody can throw the ball like catfish can.
Come up where the yankees are,
Dress up in a pinstripe suit,
Smoke a custom-made cigar,
Wear an alligator boot.
Catfish, million-dollar-man,
Nobody can throw the ball like catfish can.
Carolina born and bred,
Love to hunt the little quail.

[...] Read more

song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Catfish

(bob dylan, jacques levy)
Lazy stadium night,
Catfish on the mound.
strike three, the umpire said,
Batter have to go back and sit down.
Catfish, million dollar man.
Nobody can throw the ball like catfish can.
Used to work on mr. finleys farm
But the old man would not pay.
So he packed his glove and took his arm
And one day he just ran away.
Catfish, million dollar man.
Nobody can throw that ball like catfish can.
Way up where the yankees are
Smoke a custom made cigar.
Catfish, million dollar man.
Nobody can throw that ball like catfish can.
Reggie jackson at the plate
Seeing nothing but the curve.
Swing too early or too late,

[...] Read more

song performed by Kinky Friedman
Added by Lucian Velea
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Catfish Girl

Catfish girl, makes it feel so fine
Catfish girl, always pulling on my line
When I see her smiling face, She get me every single time
Yeah she does.
Catfish girl, I miss you Lord I feel so blue
Oh my Catfish girl, Oh and every little thing that you do
Oh Catfish girl, I only want to be with you.
Oh Catfish come on now...
Aint' that the prettiest thing you ever did see.........

song performed by Chris Rea
Added by Lucian Velea
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Inspired by Issa - Catfish tells its secrets

the catfish
all day long, whispering secrets
to the mud in the field

the catfish
it tells its secrets only to
the mud in the field

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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I am an unpopular electric eel in a pool of catfish.

quote by Edith Sitwell
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Your Catfish Friend

If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by
one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
of my affection
and think, "It's beautiful
here by this pond.I wish
somebody loved me,"
I'd love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be
at peace,
and ask yourself, "I wonder
if there are any catfish

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Brautigan
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The Bitter Art...

it was the lesson learned
while fishing for catfish on the river
in that small creek
mossy, and covered with some
coconut leaves
rotten
where the catfish liked to swim
and be caught
for the divine purpose of
lunch for the
poor,

i have learned the bitter art
of waiting

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bare To Such Luscence - A Catfish Mass

.
for John Berryman, his Bones, Confessed

Antiphons:

The original fault
Will not be undone by fire.
The original fault was whether wickedness
Was soluble in art. History says it is,
Jacques Maritain says it is,
Barely.

- John Berryman, from 'Sonnet ix'

Introit then Lauds:

Punctuated surprise,
hosanna of rivers

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poem by Warren Falcon
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A Mess Of Catfish

A mess of catfish on his plate,
they were crispy as he ate.
Bestest time he ever had
goin' fishin' with his dad.
Went at night. His momma said
'It's too late, time for bed.'
Dad complained and said to her
'It's time he learned what nighttime's fer.'
And so it was he learned to fish.
And so it was he got his wish.
He still goes fishin' late at night
and thinks of dad when the catfish bite.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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We have sat on the river bank and caught catfish with pin hooks. The time has come to harpoon a whale.

quote by John Hope
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Catfish Hunter

Hard rubber plate there in the dust
and just beyond, a mound.
With difficulty Catfish turned
and paced the muddy ground.
Even with the walker
these few steps were hard indeed.
Shoulders weak, steps faltering
from Lou Gehrig’s sad disease.

The blue sky stretched above him
so infinite and vast.
With difficulty Catfish reached
back, deep into his past.
He did not think of trophies
or recall his perfect game.
Not at all about the millions
he once got to sign his name.

He was pitching for the Yankees
against men in Dodger Blue.

[...] Read more

poem by John F. McCullagh
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Catfish John (studio Outtake)

Mama said, "Don't go near that river,
Don't be hanging around old Catfish John."
Come in the morning I'd always be there,
Walking in his footsteps in the sweet Delta dawn.
Take me back to another morning, to a time so long ago,
When the sweet magnolia blossomed, cotton fields as white as snow.
Catfish John was a river hobo who lived and died by the river's bed,
Looking back I still remember I was proud to be his friend.
Mama said, "Don't go near that river,
Don't be hanging around old Catfish John."
Come in the morning I'd always be there,
Walking in his footsteps in the sweet Delta dawn.
Born a slave in the town of Vicksburg, traded for a chestnut mare,
Lord her never spoke in anger though his load was hard to bear.
Mama said, "Don't go near that river,
Come in the morning I'd always be there,
Walking in his footsteps in the sweet Delta dawn.
Walking in his footsteps in the sweet Delta dawn

song performed by Grateful Dead
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Catfish is not playing guitar no more, he's doing like a home-front thing. He had been in the business around ten years before I got in it, so I guess he's had enough of it.

quote by Bootsy Collins
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In My Own Choice Of Peace...

on a murky water
a catfish shows its mouth

drinking a cup of air
handed by the hand of the wind

i see the joys of its eyes
it jumps

and dives back in the water
creating a crease of so many ripples....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I think it was just an opera. Now, you go to opera, you expect to see and hear what the opera is. So, it was Catfish Row. It was singers. Marvelous voices. It didn't make no difference what color they were.

quote by Cab Calloway
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Most Of What I Have Is

Anger, bull anger, dragon anger
Tiger anger,
Strong anger of twisters,

For the one I truly and truly love,

The desert and the volcanic ash
The ungiving, the unyielding

It is like,
A dead pond

Murky, brackish water,
It is the dwelling of
A porcupine-fish, just that,
It does not even swim
Or tried learning the art
Of swimming

It is my pain

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fishing

Wen I git up in de mo'nin' an' de clouds is big an' black,
Dey's a kin' o' wa'nin' shivah goes a-scootin' down my back;
Den I says to my ol' ooman ez I watches down de lane,
'Don't you so't o' reckon, Lizy, dat we gwine to have some rain?'

'Go on, man,' my Lizy answah, 'you cain't fool me, not a bit,
I don't see no rain a-comin', ef you's wishin' fu' it, quit;
Case de mo' you t'ink erbout it, an de mo' you pray an' wish,
W'y de rain stay 'way de longah, spechul ef you wants to fish.'

But I see huh pat de skillet, an' I see huh cas' huh eye
Wid a kin' o' anxious motion to'ds de da'kness in de sky;
An' I knows whut she 's a-t'inkin', dough she tries so ha'd to hide.
She 's a-sayin', 'Would n't catfish now tas'e monst'ous bully, fried?'

Den de clouds git black an' blackah, an' de thundah 'mence to roll,
An' de rain, it 'mence a-fallin'. Oh, I's happy, bless my soul!
Ez I look at dat ol' skillet, an' I 'magine I kin see
Jes' a slew o' new-ketched catfish sizzlin' daih fu' huh an' me.

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Cleaning Fish On Good Friday,1963

.
Fate, then, heavy in a boy's hand
hoists dead weight to a nail on a tree.
His knife scores firm flesh yielding
beneath freshly limp gills - there is an
instrument made just for this, pincher-pliers
for catfish skin - he grips and tears,
uses his weight down-stripping smoothly
bare to such luscence little ribs of roseate
flesh.

Only the overly large head, the ugly face
whiskered within gilded monstrance,
remain pure to form, thin-lipped and
mocking, restrained by depth pressures,
sustained on surface trash, dead things
that sink down it's treasures.

Tenderly sing, then, to a nail,
to a boy's blood catechism -

[...] Read more

poem by Warren Falcon
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The Itching Stays

Conceiving of love as an ocean of felicity, I sprang to bathe in it;
Then looking back, I felt sorrows getting about to wind around me.
I wonder whoever has created this clear-watered lake of love!
My heart’s pretty shaking: here roam the insects of grief forever.
My elders’ reproaches feel as lichens, neighbors as catfishes,
And my lineage like thorny water-chestnuts floating far and wide.
Waterworts my blemishes against me; it’s tough to drink from here.
In and outside of me the itching stays, God brought grief into joys.
Says Chandidas, “O Beautiful, grief and happiness are two brothers;
Grief goes to whoever falls in love with happiness, lured by it.”

Translator’s Note:

I translated this poem by Chandidas a few days back but it’s better for you to count on this translation as a draft on which I may have to work a bit as well. The following information about the poet is from Wikipedia:

Chandidas (born 1408 CE) refers to (possibly more than one) a medieval poet of Bengal. Verse written by at least four different Chandidas have been found, and it is not clear whether they refer to the same person or not. The name Chandidas is usually attributed to Baru Chandidas, who has been more or less indentified as a historical figure born in the 14th century. He was born in Birbhum district of what is now West Bengal. Chandidas wrote the lyrical Srikrishna Kirtan (Songs in Praise of Krishna) .

poem by Sofiul Azam
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Fishing on a small lake

You had just left me
and I had relocated from Bellville
near Cape Town
to Centurion at Pretoria
and had travelled by airplane
and there was storm damage
to the roads
and I was still waiting
on my removal to arrive

and apart from going to work
I had a lot of time on my hands
and thoughts in my mind,
since I have lost
the only fish that really mattered
and I didn’t really know how.

My rods and reels and fishing tackle
from when I was a boy
was at my mother’s

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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