(Two stamps for me, two stamps for Sutherland)
Silhouetted, he floats on gold fire,
Gliding, smoothly, liquid across glass.
A Communion the church could never house.
Poseidon sweeps his trident:
Agua pura, siren song of the sea;
tempting foam fingers bring him back to her
(loving mother and jealous mistress)
crash clean over him, tumbling in her bosom,
washing the world and his worries away.
Living now in this moment:
footprints disappear with high surf.
All that is, or ever was, is this ride.
Showers diamonds with a flick of foot,
and a fan of flame in his wake.
Now close to flying, close to dieing
she stands up and over, engulfing him.
Lost now to the world, she won’t give him back.
Now he is home, but far still as heaven.
“Hakman,” is an imitation poem based off of Robert Hayden’s “Soledad.” The title of my poem is the last name of one of the greatest surfers of the late sixties to mid-seventies. Jeff Hakman, known as “Mr. Sunset,” stated in a 1994 interview that “the best memories of my surfing career” were from riding Honolua Bay with his good friend Jock Sutherland while they were both high on LSD. That said, it is important to remember when reading my poem, the unique vision of a surfer on acid should be kept in mind and I felt it was an adequate adaptation from Hayden’s drug-riddled lover of jazz.