Hello Substack posts! I’ve hardly been here, using Substack Notes like the dopamine crack-house which it truly has become. But, here I am, trying to avoid the rain in a café in south Devon and neck-thick in admin, attempting to remind myself that I’m a writer and not a machine. I’m unconvincing today, even to myself, but Rozi and I ran a kick-ass weekend of Wielding the Green Knife in Cheltenham last weekend, and I believe I’ll bounce back quickly, especially as I get the final bits and pieces together for encant*, which I’ll be launching next week.
But, to the matter at hand. Lights glimpsed across the waters in which hungry bear-ghosts swim
I come back to this quickly-written piece every so often, shuddering a little, and yet I like the claustrophobic menace of it, and the call for genuine connection and recognising one another across the silence and madness still holds true.
So, while the Gypsy Kings blares fairly relentlessly around me and the other tables come and go, I’ve been trimming and tucking and squeezing in some more language to see how it fares with my attention today.
I don’t know.
Here’s the new version:
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Lights glimpsed across the waters in which hungry bear-ghosts swim [June 2026 version] Not only deep, but thick with dead bears’ teeth – Yellow, crooked, hungry – this darkness around us now. Their jawbones are white as constellations – Sharp as the keening of my unloved ancestors – In the deep thick dark through which I swim In these small and empty hours, As tiny as a glimpse of hope. Not a boat to be seen, or a ship, Or even the great head of a giant above the waterline; Water laps at my ears in the small dark Hours so thick and deep with The death of everything I love, all life, and time. The white bear bones and the jagged bear teeth Lurch in the water towards me And the water glows with malice, And the endless longing of our neglected ghosts. These are the depths we’re in; This is the black-watered sea. All the skeletons of our forgetting Have the scent of us and are closing now, Fast and hungry in the brine. So, in this teeth-thick, deep-dead Dark, I am sustained by what light I see. Now is no time to shy away from any bright beholding, however close or far. If I see your face across the deadening water, I will steer towards you as I swim. Come close. Be warmed; and warm me. In this great dying-time, my nose for life Is as keen as a fox or a dog alive Again to the hum and stink of this world Still spinning within disaster. The angles of my pursuers tighten Towards me. Will we risk greeting One another within this extremity? Surely we risk a greater darkness With our formidable reserve, the Formality that has brought us to The bear-dark dead-thick sea And this extinction of our hearts.
and this is the original, from May 2023, when the world felt quite different and quite the same.
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Lights glimpsed across the waters in which hungry bear-ghosts swim [May 2023 version]
Not only deep, but thick with dead bears' teeth —
Yellow, crooked, hungry — this darkness around us now.
Their jawbones are white as constellations,
Sharp as the keening of my unloved ancestors,
In the deep thick dark through which I swim
In these small and empty hours,
As tiny as a glimpse of hope.
Not a boat to be seen, or a ship or the
Great head of a giant above the waterline;
Water laps at my ears in the small dark
Hours so thick and deep with the death
Of everything: hope, love, all life, and time.
The white bear bones and the jagged bear teeth
Lurch in the water towards me
And the water glows with malice,
And the endless longing of unbeloved ghosts.
This is the sea we’re in.
This is the black-watered sea
And all the skeletons of our forgetting
Have the scent of us and are closing.
So, in this teeth-thick, deep-dead
Dark, I am sustained by what light I see.
Now is no time to shy away from any bright
Recognition, however close or far.
If I see your face shine across the deadening water,
I will steer towards you as I swim.
Come in. Warm me; be warmed.
In this great death, my nose for life
Is as keen as a fox or a dog coming
Alive again to the hum and stink of a world
Still spinning within disaster.
The angles of my pursuers tighten
Towards me. Will we risk greeting
One another in the language of this
Extremity? Or risk greater darkness
With our formidable reserve, the
Formality that has brought us to
The bear-dark dead-thick sea
And the extinction of our hearts.What do you think?
Better now? Or not?
And — most importantly (for our practice as poets) — by what measures? What is ‘good’ and what’s ‘not good’? What do we mean? I obviously have my intentions for the piece, and I can only vaguely describe them, but I have values, of course. Does it do what I would like it to do? Does it do that better than the silence of its absence?
The rain continues. The Gypsy Kings continue their rotation. I abide in the discomfort of both working as a writer and working as a machine-adjacent surf. I wave across the water and — maybe — swim for land.
Keep faith in the power of language and see you in the sea or on the strand.
Tom
*about encant: it’s an eight-week course in the kind of poetics I teach and aspire to bring to my work. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it here, so let me share these few slides that give a taster. I’ll be running two class-groups from the beginning of July (one in the morning — UK time — and one in the evening) and taking bookings from next week. If you’re interested, ping me back a message expressing your interest and I’ll put you on the advance-notice list. I think places might go quickly, as it’s going to be f$£%ing brilliant. This is just a quick pointer about it, as I’m focused on bear-thick waters right now, but I thought it’d be remiss of me to not mention it.
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