In Broken by Water: Salish Sea Years, the contemporary world is suffused with the past, a world where even the briefest moments are layered with meaning: widgeons spooked into flight echo the horror of orcas being captured in a quaint harbor; clouds storming north are like a massive spring migration and make human life seem insignificant; a raven’s croak underscores the outrage of old-growth devastation; one vandalized grave portends the end of our world. These poems are alive in the moment precisely because they bring the dark, often forgotten, past into the light.
I have revisited the Salish Sea, its numerous islands and fog, its peaceful and stormy beauty, a place I have known mostly from the shore. Thompson knows it also from out on the water, traveling on his trawler, Keats, where we are introduced to a life afloat, including the thrills and despairs a boat can present to the sailor. These poems revere the geography of the island-dotted northwest corner of our country, and introduce us to a representative sense of its bird life, its history of contact with indigenous nations, and the characters who have lived there.