‘FiShErPoEm’
Continued from Page 4
“Other than the outrageous
damage to the environment and
monumental loss of life in a pris-
tine, gorgeous place, I was think-
ing about what was being taken
away from me because of the oil
heading into Cook Inlet. I wasn’t
going to get to experience my
life’s adventure at sea – for who
knew how long?” Dixon said.
Shortly after the disaster, Dixon’s
reflections led him to pen “Middle
Rip” and “Fallout,” his first forays
into the maritime poetic genre.
An Indiana boy spurred to the
north by curiosity, Dixon remained
in Alaska for over 20 years. He
fished for salmon in the summer
and taught photography in the off-
season. A desire to be closer to
family spurred a move to Wash-
ington in 1989. “That first year of
being down here was very diffi-
cult,” Dixon said. “I felt I’d lost
my identity and spiraled into a
pretty severe depression.”
That’s when a close friend and
fellow fisherman took Dixon to
the second FisherPoets Gather-
ing. “When I sat down in the Wet
Dog saloon and saw guys walk-
ing around in stormy seas jackets,
deck slippers and rubber boots,
then heard the stories, poems
and songs they were perform-
ing, I immediately felt I had found
the community I left in Alaska,”
Dixon said. Moved by the eve-
ning’s performances, Dixon left
the bar, took his journal to a back
room, and penned his feelings. “I
read it at open mic the following
night, got asked to return for the
next gathering as a reader, and I
was hooked,” Dixon said.
Returning virtually this year,
the FisherPoet Gathering is once
again poised to present audience
members with a view into the
tightly intertwined relationship
between the maritime life and that
of the artist.
“I think the biggest common-
ality for me is that when I write,
I become immersed in the story.
I believe those details help bring
the experience closer for the audi-
ence,” Dixon said. “When I get
into a reading, the experience can
be similar — almost visceral. I’ve
seen other outstanding readers get
so swept away that they end up in
tears from reading pieces they’ve
read dozens of times. I’ve done that
Written in Astoria, December 2000
by PaTrICK dIXON
I slide into this crowded bar
like I’d ease a boat into a slip:
the river is crowded tonight.
Fisherpoets
ride these aisles like currents.
Tying up to booths
or dropping anchors on barstools,
they open journals like hatch covers:
Patrick dixon
Patrick Dixon performs at a previous FisherPoets Gathering in Astoria.
unsure of how the catch compares.
how many brailers does the rest of the fleet have tonight?
how many pounds?
AS A LONG-STANDING RESIDENT OF THE
FISHERPOET GATHERING, DIXON HAS
RATHER STRAIGHTFORWARD ADVICE FOR
THOSE NEW TO THE SCENE. ‘SIT DOWN,
GRAB A BEER AND LISTEN. THERE’S A WIDE
VARIETY OF TALENT STANDING UP THERE,
BUT REGARDLESS OF WHETHER THEY’RE
POLISHED OR NOT, EACH ONE IS A GEM. YOU
NEVER KNOW WHO WILL SPEAK TO YOU.’
(Crap. Maybe I’ll wait to deliver until morning,
when no one else is watching.)
but morning comes and no one cares.
We drink beer, watch the show, and listen.
and damn, the stories fill the air like jumpers;
words weave to catch them like nets hung deep,
ears cock for the sound of a splash
eyes narrow, looking for hits.
Then here comes the next set, and a poet picks up the microphone,
like static over the radio, the bar chatter fades,
very thing myself. The audience
always appreciates a performance
that’s real, honest and vulnerable.”
Over the years, Dixon has con-
tinued to hone his photographic
pursuits. His decision to do so
was, in part, inspired by a work-
shop in 1979. Led by the late
Ansel Adams and his carefully
curated cadre of expert teachers,
the seminar was a self-proclaimed
lifesaver for Dixon. “At the end
of that week I finally knew what I
wanted to do with my life,” Dixon
writes in his memoir, “Waiting to
Deliver: From greenhorn to skip-
per, an Alaska commercial fishing
memoir.” Dixon is keenly aware
that photography and poetry share
a similar ability to capture both
a moment and the unique per-
spectives of those present at the
time. “Both choose what they are
focused upon, what it means, how
to render it,” Dixon said. “I’ve
attended dozens of photo work-
shops and poetry workshops, and
in all of them I’ve experienced the
same thing again and again: no
two people ever experience identi-
cal realities.”
As a long-standing resident
of the FisherPoet Gathering,
Dixon has rather straightforward
advice for those new to the scene.
“Sit down, grab a beer and lis-
ten. There’s a wide variety of tal-
ent standing up there, but regard-
less of whether they’re polished
or not, each one is a gem. You
never know who will speak to
you. And brace yourself. Some of
the readers will blow your socks
off! And although the virtual gath-
ering is good, once the air clears
and we can all get together again,
the in-person gathering is one of
the best ways to spend a February
weekend I know”, Dixon said.
For those wanting to know
more about Dixon, his mem-
oir is set for release prior to the
gathering.
Dixon is scheduled to read at
8 p.m. on Friday. The reading,
like all 2022 performances, can be
viewed online at www.fisherpo-
ets.org.
and in slow-motion the words lift us, riding on the back of a swell:
“The VhF just said a boat went down with all hands.”
“The sunrise lit the mountaintops the color of salmon.”
“…that halibut hook sunk deep into the side of his hand.”
“The lights of the fleet looked as if the very stars had fallen to the ocean surface.”
“Pea soup.”
“she went over when we weren’t lookin’…”
a slip of a boot on a wet deck
becomes a slip of the tongue,
and this place fills with salt water.
The speaker pauses, turns off the key
and walks away without a look.
In a moment all hell will break loose,
and we’ll relive it again in the telling,
but as the story lands on the dock
solid and hard,
we can sense the slightest change of the engine,
feel the gentlest breeze,
hear our own heart beat
in the distance,
in the waves.
Astoria, December, 2000
Thursday, February 24, 2022 // 5