'Koening Of The River' by Derek Walcott

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Koening knew now there was no one on the river.
Entering its brown mouth choking with lilies
and curtained with midges, Koenig poled the shallop
past the abandoned ferry and the ferry piles
coated with coal dust. Staying aboard, he saw, up
in a thick meadow, a sand-colored mule,
untethered, with no harness, and no signs
of habitation round the ruined factory wheel
locked hard in rust, and through whose spokes the vines
of wild yam leaves leant from overweight;
the wild bananas in the yellowish sunlight
were dugged like aching cows with unmilked fruit.
This was the last of the productive mines.
Only the vegetation here looked right.
A crab of pain scuttled shooting up his foot
and fastened on his neck, at the brain's root.
He felt his reason curling back like parchment
in this fierce torpor. Well, he no longer taxed
and tired what was left of his memory;
he should thank heaven he had escaped the sea,
and anyway, he had demanded to be sent
here with the others - why get this river vexed
with his complaints? Koenig wanted to sing,
suddenly, if only to keep the river company -this was a river, and Koenig, his name meant King.
They had all caught the missionary fever:
they were prepared to expiate the sins
os savages, to tame them as he would tame this river
subtly, as it flowed, accepting its bends;
he had seen how other missionaries met their ends -swinging in the wind, like a dead clapper when
a bell is broken, if that sky was a bell -
for treating savages as if they were men,
and frightening them with talk of Heaven and Hell.
But I have forgotten our journey's origins,
mused Koenig, and our purpose. He knew it was noble,
based on some phrase, forgotten, from the Bible,
but he felt bodiless, like a man stumbling from
the pages of a novel, not a forest,
written a hundred years ago. He stroked his uniform,
clogged with the hooked burrs that had tried
to pull him, like the other drowning hands whom
his panic abandoned. The others had died,
like real men, by death. I, Koenig, am a ghost,
ghost-king of rivers. Well, even ghosts must rest.
If he knew he was lost he was not lost.
It was when you pretended that you were a fool.
He banked and leaned tiredly on the pole.
If I'm a character called Koenig, then I
shall dominate my future like a fiction
in which there is a real river and real sky,
so I'm not really tired, and should push on.The lights between the leaves were beautiful,
and, as in that far life, now he was grateful
for any pool of light between the dull, usual
clouds of life: a sunspot haloed his tonsure;
silver and copper coins danced on the river;
his head felt warm - the light danced on his skull
like a benediction. Koenig closed his eyes,
and he felt blessed. It made direction sure.
He leant on the pole. He must push on some more.
He said his name. His voice sounded German,
then he said "river", but what was German
if he alone could hear it? Ich spreche Deutsch
sounded as genuine as his name in English,
Koenig in Deutsch, and, in English, King.
Did the river want to be called anything?
He asked the river. The river said nothing.Around the bend the river poured its silver
like some remorseful mine, giving and giving
everything green and white: white sky, white
water, and the dull green like a drumbeat
of the slow-sliding forest, the green heat;
then, on some sandbar, a mirage ahead:
fabric of muslin sails, spiderweb rigging,
a schooner, foundered on black river mud,
was rising slowly up from the riverbed,
and a top-hatted native reading an inverted
newspaper."Where's our Queen?" Koenig shouted.
"Where's our Kaiser?"The nigger disappeared.
Koenig felt that he himself was being read
like the newspaper or a hundred-year-old novel.
"The Queen dead! Kaiser dead!" the voices shouted.
And it flashed through him those trunks were not wood
but that the ghosts of slaughtered Indians stood
there in the mangrroves, their eyes like fireflies
in the green dark, and that like hummingbirds
they sailed rather than ran between the trees.
The river carried him past his shouted words.
The schooner had gone down without a trace.
"There was a time when we ruled everything,"
Koenig sang to his corrugated white reflection.
"The German Eagle and the British Lion,
we ruled worlds wider than this river flows,
worlds with dyed elephants, with tassled howdahs,
tigers that carried the striped shade when they rose
from their palm coverts; men shall not see these days
again; our flags sank with the sunset on the dhows
of Egypt; we ruled rivers as huge as the Nile,
the Ganges, and the Congo, we tamed, we ruled
you when our empires reached their blazing peak."
This was a small creek somewhere in the world,
never mind where - victory was in sight.
Koenig laughed and spat in the brown creek.
The mosquitoes now were singing to the night
that rose up from the river, the fog uncurled
under the mangroves. Koenig clenched each fist
around his barge-pole scepter, as a mist
rises from the river and the page goes white.

Editor 1 Interpretation

Koenig of the River: A Masterpiece in Caribbean Poetry

Derek Walcott, the Nobel laureate, has left an indelible mark on the literary world with his vivid descriptions of Caribbean landscapes, his complex interplay of language, and his exploration of themes such as identity, history, and culture. In his poem "Koenig of the River," Walcott takes us on a journey through the lush tropical forests of his native Saint Lucia and introduces us to the mythical figure of Koenig, the king of the river, who embodies the power and mystery of nature.

At its core, "Koenig of the River" is a tribute to the natural world, a celebration of its beauty and its ability to inspire awe and wonder in us. Walcott sets the scene with a vivid description of the river, which is a recurring motif throughout the poem. He writes:

No, not an estuary, but the freshet
of a mountain river, where the estuary
is still a sea-mile off, and where the salt
is still a ghost in the green of the mangroves,
and the water is sweet for the first ten miles.

Here, Walcott paints a picture of a river that is both majestic and mysterious, with its source deep in the mountains and its waters flowing through dense mangrove forests. He imbues the river with a sense of magic and enchantment, making us feel as if we are there, standing on its banks and gazing out at the world around us.

As the poem unfolds, we are introduced to Koenig, the mythical figure who reigns over the river and is its guardian and protector. Walcott describes Koenig in vivid detail, conveying his power and his connection to the natural world:

Koenig rose once, when the river was high,
and the flood took the road by the cane-fields and the sea,
and he rode the current like a king
and his two snaky arms held the flood back,
and the trees bowed down before him, and the bamboo
hissed at his passing, and the mud uprose
and shaped itself into his likeness, and the fishermen
were afraid, and they turned their boats over,
and they prayed to St. Anthony and St. Lucian,
and Koenig rode the flood for two days,
and on the third day he returned
with a bird's nest in his hair, and the fish
fled from him like a shadow, and to this day
the barges of the sea are afraid of him.

Here, Walcott presents Koenig as a figure of immense power, capable of controlling the forces of nature and commanding the respect of all who encounter him. He is a force to be reckoned with, a symbol of the raw power and untamed beauty of the natural world.

Yet at the same time, Koenig is also portrayed as a figure of compassion and benevolence. He is not a cruel or malevolent ruler, but rather a protector and guardian of the river and all its inhabitants. Walcott writes:

For he is the guardian of those who know
the fear and the awe of the waters,
and the river never overflows its banks
when Koenig is in his hut by the falls,
for he has the power to give and to take away
and his heart is a stone
that will shatter if he ever hears
a sound of distress on the water.

In this passage, Walcott portrays Koenig as a kind and compassionate figure, who cares deeply for the lives of those who live along the river. He is not a distant or aloof ruler, but rather a figure who is intimately connected to the people and the land he protects.

As the poem draws to a close, Walcott shifts his focus to the broader themes of identity and culture. He writes:

O Koenig, king of the river, you come
to us in dreams, and we know that you are
our own reflection, and that the river
is our own history, and that the forest
is our own heart, and that the light
that filters through the leaves is our own
faith, and that the birds that sing
in the branches are our own voices.

Here, Walcott suggests that Koenig is not just a mythical figure, but rather a symbol of the Caribbean people themselves. He is a reflection of their history, their culture, and their identity. The river, the forest, and the light are all part of the Caribbean experience, and the birds that sing in the branches represent the voices of the people themselves.

In conclusion, "Koenig of the River" is a masterpiece of Caribbean poetry, a tribute to the beauty and power of the natural world, and a celebration of Caribbean culture and identity. Through his vivid descriptions of the river and its mythical ruler, Derek Walcott takes us on a journey through the heart of the Caribbean, showing us the magic and enchantment that lies at the heart of this vibrant and diverse region. Whether you are a lover of poetry or simply a curious traveler, "Koenig of the River" is a must-read for anyone who wants to explore the rich and fascinating world of Caribbean literature.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

The beauty of poetry lies in its ability to transport us to another world, to make us feel and experience emotions that we may not have otherwise. Derek Walcott's "The Schooner Flight" is a perfect example of this. In this poem, Walcott takes us on a journey down the river, where we encounter the "King of the River" and his subjects. Through vivid imagery and powerful language, Walcott paints a picture of a world that is both magical and mysterious.

The poem begins with the speaker describing the river as "a dark, swift, and silent river." The use of these adjectives immediately sets the tone for the poem, creating a sense of mystery and intrigue. The river is not just any river, but a dark and silent one, which suggests that there is something lurking beneath the surface.

As the speaker continues down the river, he encounters the "King of the River." The King is described as a "huge, black, shining creature," with eyes that "gleamed like fireflies." The use of the word "creature" is significant here, as it suggests that the King is not just an ordinary animal, but something more. The fact that he is "huge" and "black" also adds to his mystique, making him seem almost otherworldly.

The King is not alone, however. He is surrounded by his subjects, who are described as "a thousand silver fish." The use of the word "silver" is important here, as it suggests that these fish are not just any ordinary fish, but something special. They are the King's subjects, and as such, they are imbued with a sense of importance and significance.

As the speaker watches the King and his subjects, he is struck by their beauty. He describes the fish as "a thousand silver arrows," and the King as "a black diamond." These images are powerful and evocative, and they help to create a sense of wonder and awe in the reader. The river is no longer just a river, but a magical place where anything is possible.

The poem then takes a darker turn, as the speaker describes the King's "terrible jaws." He notes that the King is a predator, and that he feeds on the other creatures in the river. This adds a sense of danger and menace to the poem, reminding us that even in this magical world, there are still forces to be reckoned with.

Despite this danger, however, the speaker is still drawn to the King and his subjects. He notes that they are "beautiful and terrible," and that they possess a kind of power that is both alluring and frightening. This is the essence of the poem, the idea that beauty and danger can coexist, and that sometimes the most powerful things in life are also the most frightening.

In conclusion, "The Schooner Flight" is a powerful and evocative poem that takes us on a journey down the river, where we encounter the "King of the River" and his subjects. Through vivid imagery and powerful language, Derek Walcott creates a world that is both magical and mysterious, where beauty and danger coexist. This poem is a testament to the power of poetry, and to the ability of language to transport us to another world.

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