In just a few short lines, H.D. turns a small encounter into something quietly mysterious. A speaker reaches into a pool and asks if what they touch is alive. The thing—maybe a fish, maybe a reflection, maybe the water itself—quivers at the touch, and the speaker tries to catch it with a net. The final question, “What are you—banded one?”, suggests they are not sure what they have found. The word “banded” could hint at stripes on a fish or at bands of light on the water’s surface. The speaker’s feelings hover between curiosity, tenderness, and a little frustration at not being able to hold or name the creature. The mood is hushed and slightly unsettled: something alive is almost grasped, but remains ungraspable. There is gentle intimacy in the touch, but also a sense that some living things resist being captured or fully known. It captures the fragile distance between touching and truly knowing.
The Pool — Summary
Are you alive? I touch you. You quiver like a sea-fish. I cover you with my net. What are you--banded one?