JACK MERRILL started writing and publishing in high school. He attended several alternative educational programs including Sailing Education Association (SEA) - doing oceanographic work . He enrolled and graduated from Antioch College in 1975 with an undergraduate degree in literature and marine biology. His work included several years at Outward Bound School as well as lobstering as a “sternman” for three years on Little Cranberry Island.
He married his wife Erica in 1982. After traveling through Europe, they started a family in 1985 – 2 great kids – Laura and Sam.
In 1976 Jack bought first boat – “Kingpin” – Lobstered in her until 1980 – 40’ “Bottom Dollar” was built in Corea, Maine. Unfortunately, she caught fire and sank on a December fishing day in 2006. Shortly afterward he purchased “Tigger”, a 42” Duffy hull.
Jack has been an active member of the Maine Lobstermen Association since the early 1980’s – including over 20 years as Vice-President. He also has served as an advisor to “The Lobster Institute” at U Maine since its inception in 1987
Other interests – he is still active as a youth sports coach (baseball, hockey, basketball) over 50 teams over 30 years – Currently plays harmonica in a Blues Band – “A Train” – Paints with watercolor, gouache, and acrylics for a hobby - intense relaxation – Reads poetry 3 or 4 times a year in public. He is glad to report that the Astoria FisherPoet Event has spurred similar events in Maine – Thanks to singer/songwriter/sculptor Gorden Bok for passing on the vibes
He married his wife Erica in 1982. After traveling through Europe, they started a family in 1985 – 2 great kids – Laura and Sam.
In 1976 Jack bought first boat – “Kingpin” – Lobstered in her until 1980 – 40’ “Bottom Dollar” was built in Corea, Maine. Unfortunately, she caught fire and sank on a December fishing day in 2006. Shortly afterward he purchased “Tigger”, a 42” Duffy hull.
Jack has been an active member of the Maine Lobstermen Association since the early 1980’s – including over 20 years as Vice-President. He also has served as an advisor to “The Lobster Institute” at U Maine since its inception in 1987
Other interests – he is still active as a youth sports coach (baseball, hockey, basketball) over 50 teams over 30 years – Currently plays harmonica in a Blues Band – “A Train” – Paints with watercolor, gouache, and acrylics for a hobby - intense relaxation – Reads poetry 3 or 4 times a year in public. He is glad to report that the Astoria FisherPoet Event has spurred similar events in Maine – Thanks to singer/songwriter/sculptor Gorden Bok for passing on the vibes
AUDIO
WRITINGS
Beginnings
the white barnacles
eaten by the
pink crab
armored walls left
empty
against the granite floor
the perpetrator crawls
sideways
in perfect innocence
like seed spit
on
unsuspecting ground
it is here
exposed
life begins
in the wash of the tide
__________________
The Mooring
at the end of the day
in the darkness of the harbor
edging forward along the starboard rail
each step a challenge
cold concentration
heavy arms lift the chains
over the bow bit
the frozen air holds a man hostage
but we’re almost home
the body moves forward on its own
pulled into the skiff by a gentle swell
careful now
find those oars with frozen fingers
painfully grip and pull
straighten, steady
point the bow towards the docks
as if the tide had a hold of you
slowly ebbing towards a warm home
food never tasting better
sleep a dream away
rowing home with a cold clean soul
__________________
Fisherman’s Boots
While it’s true the seashore whispers things
the poets tell us too much
secrets are better held in fishermen’s boots
rubber smells, oily soles covered with scales
muddied as well
a pickup ride home in the rain
as if the water insisted
on following him through the door
the water drips on the wood floor
wool cap and damp jacket hung on ancient hooks
the aroma of fish and old clothes salted
invades the entrance
the warmth of the house penetrates his tired hands
his sore back
he sighs, closes his eyes,
and lets the tension out for the first time in fourteen hours
searching for a quiet calm
the exuberant ocean and pounding engine wouldn’t allow
he’s eager to get off his feet
to find an ardent meal readied
to touch someone special,
to lie down and die somewhere among the waves
that rock him to sleep
he will not tell us what he has caught
or why he rises again in the dark
with only a cool moon watching
to do it again
he keeps it to himself
in poetry of silence, on deep green waters
he hears his grandfather’s voice, his grandmother’s laugh
that’s all you have to know
__________________
Like a flower
you’ve bloomed with love
your soft skin
and warm body
smiles at me
from the shore
makes my heart quietly pound
like the sea’s waves
on a sandy beach
lucky I am
to get this close
to my dreams
to that which every man
dreams of and needs
but seldom receives
the tide is still rising
my watery fingers
almost unnoticed
urge their way onward
without control
and will continue
until all that is you
is swept into
my loving depths
and when the tide ebbs
you will come with me
and I
will never be the same
__________________
White Gull
the white gull that follows me
tells me this
is a special life
today
as wars passed and
children cry out homeless
the white gull
sails behind the boat picking
discarded bait from
placid waters
vying for air and water
space amongst
the other gulls
the ruffians, the haggard ones
yellow eyed
feathers ruffled
scuffling, screaming but
never sorrowful
their airborne ballet
dances with possibility
__________________
Finishing Up
fall declares itself
in that bitter hurried wind
in that dying light
fall blusters its angry muscled cry
history sings through screaming davey blocks
baiting traps as father did
trying to catch tomorrow
the fishboats turn their circles
__________________
Nothing Changes
all these years
all these wars
all the selfish reasons for war
all the grief
all the tears
that could easily fill an ocean
all the dirty uniforms
all the bloody bandages
all the body parts
hard to identify
all the speeches
meant to justify
all the smells
all the flies
all the good reasons
they had to die
__________________
The Relationship
it is not
as if one is
truth and
one is lies
it is not
as if one
is love and
one is hate
it is not as if
one is crooked
and one is straight
we navigate
the changes in the tide
the boat bucks
tossed by a random sea
arms and shoulders hold
the wheel
like taut rope
muscles straining
eyes fixed
seaward
the tangled waters turn
inside out
it is not
as if one
is certain and
one
is in doubt