The words of Zachary Payne have and carry deep meaning. They come from the depth of someone who truly feels surfing.
In the age of social media and inner entertainment ruled by short video clips and fast content, there is not much space for poets anymore.
Let alone surf poets.
Zachary Payne is one of the few who are building bridges between the spiritual side and essence of wave-riding and that treasure world of words and literature.
SurferToday.com has been the home of surf poetry for quite a while, thanks to this elite club of those who refuse to shut down one of humanity's last enclaves of intelligence and thought.
Payne publicly revealed "Where Did the Stoke Go?" at the Honolulu Museum of Art (HoMA).
Before reading the poem, Zach gave a short intro where he shared a bit of background about the piece and a humorous story about the very first time he shared it.
He explained that the poem is about surfing, but it's also about poetry itself and the creative process - how poems come, how they sometimes get stuck, and how they eventually take shape.
In this particular case, one morning while driving to Hawaii's Sandy's, the poem suddenly started pouring into his mind.
Payne was composing and finishing it in his head as he drove.
When he arrived and got out of his car, he spotted legendary waterman Mark Cunningham checking the surf.
Zachary walked right up to him and blurted out: "Mark, I'm gonna read you a poem!" admitting he probably scared Mark a little.
Now, you, dear reader, have the chance to read the written words. Please, enjoy.
'Where Did the Stoke Go?"
"Where did the stoke go?" is a great title for a piece in which I thought I would explore the loss of the mystical and the magical,
The loss of desire, or the dying of the flickering spark.
First with poetic definitions to set the stage:
Embers are tiny smoldering pieces left of the dying fire. To stoke is to encourage, to incite, to feed the fire so that it will intensify.
The poem stalled here, and sat and waited, and waited, and waited.
After some time, in an attempt to continue it, I came up with some catching questions, and I ask:
Where did you lose your stoke? Or should I ask when?
Was it in the need of getting the shot, or making the post?
Was it in the competition of having to get the score,
Or the need to always go for more, more, more?
The poem stalled again as if it didn't want to be written. I'm not one to force a poem;
They will go where they want to go, when they want to go, if they want to go at all.
For this reason, I have plenty of titles and half-written items, sticky notes and phone memos - all stalled, stuck in waiting.
But then after months, maybe years, something happens, and a thread appears.
I don't know many sages, and I don't really hang with wise men, but I have two daughters,
And kids do say the darndest things.
For example, the other day as we're driving home from the shop, my daughter was looking at a surf mag,
And she said, "I don't want to be a competition surfer, Dad. I want to surf like you."
In my mind, I thought, "an out-of-shape, middle-aged bodysurfer."
But I replied, "A soul surfer?"
She said, "No, not a soul surfer, Dad. A love surfer."
"A love surfer?"
"Yeah, a love surfer, Dad. Out there simply because you love it."
The lights went on, the celestial music started to play, and I was filled with pride,
Because my daughter sees me as a love surfer.
Not out there because I'm good - mostly average, not radical, not extreme.
Not out there in search of sponsors or money or accolades.
Not out there in pursuit of Nirvana or trying to find the true meaning of the universe.
Only out there because I love it.
Because I love straight-running knee-high crumblers with my girls.
I love chasing the whomp and the two seconds of glorious vision.
I love having a sore back and a neck that hurts every time I look to the left.
I love Wawamalu and the Sandy's morning crew - retirees that hear on a daily from an uninformed that they are "too old." Catch me in 20 years, life goals!
I love the nicks, the scrapes that become scars from the shallow reefs.
I love the playground, love the long stylish rights,
The lully days where one is more buoy than rider.
I love my wife - God, she's amazing, mi compañera.
And I love when a poem goes... I love when poems go free, free-flowing. What an adventure!
And I love those days - those days when it's inspiring, and after a few good ones you feel so full,
And you stay past the leg cramps, just swimming because there's perfection in the moment.
Yeah, a love surfer... out there simply because you love it.
And after many months and plenty of wondering, this poem has come full circle and found its end.
But I leave you with this one question:
Where did the stoke go?
Or should I ask when?
Words by Zachary Payne | Spanish Teacher and Bodysurfer
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