The Fish
I caught a tremendous fish
[…]He didn’t fight.
He hadn’t fought at all.
[…] Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.[…]
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
[…]I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels—-until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!And I let the fish go.
(Elizabeth Bishop, The Fish)

Fisch
AcrylLeinwand über Draht