The maid that loves goes out to sea upon a shattered plank and puts her trust in miracles for safety.
A singer for me is more like someone who is standing alone with a microphone like Scott Walker rather than someone who is bashing a plank and is spitting all over a microphone.
There is little premium in poetry in a world that thinks of Pound and Whitman as a weight and a sampler not an Ezra a Walt a thing of beauty a joy forever.