American verse comprises such genres as cowboy and fisher poetry; those two even have festivals. Maybe waterway poetry and song needs to be recognized as a genre as well. The photo below shows a recitation in progress; in the foreground is the audience, their attention fixed on the man in the yellow t-shirt, Steve R. Wunder, veteran of more than 40 years working on the Erie Canal, living in a house that faces the Seneca River portion of the NYS Canals. Behind him is the Dipper Dredge No. 3, (DD3) originally built in 1911, rebuilt in 1929. The 110′ x 34′ x 7.5′ steam-powered dredge worked the Canals until the end of the 1985 season. More important today, DD3 serves as Steve’s muse.

Here’s a closer up of Steve reciting his poetry inspired by DD3 and its crew.

DD3 was added to the NYS and National Historic Register in 2007.

Here, as promised, is the text of the poem. Of course, no one can voice it with the same impact as Steve.

T’was the night before digging and the lads of the river,

were ashore in the Riverside taxing their livers.

A late night’s reverie and early to rise,

telling tall stories or should I say lies;

At the dawn of the morning the Dredge Captain shouted,

but the lads paid no heed to the Captain who pouted.

“Get out of those bunks you louses and skunks,

you lazies and crazies, you damnable drunks.

There’s mud in the channel that has to be cleared,

forget about barrooms and women and beers.

There be rocks in the river, the shallows are wide,

get coffee and breakfast, then haul it topside.”

On levers is Ernie, his bucket he’ll guide,

with four yards of spoil riding inside;

the craneman is Carnie, we all call him Don,

he lets go the load from the boom that he’s on;

there’s Dale who watches the boiler with care,

getting up steam with oil and air.

Billy’s the guy with the second name Bob,

who oils the engines that shiver and throb.

And Kenneth R. Beagle the Ghost of the Dipper,

his hammers still singing the song of the chipper.

The scows are now empty, the boiler is down,

nothing but memories, no whistle, no sound.

The waters are rising, the current is slow,

the powers of steam have nowhere to grow,

Dipper Dredge Three, I say most sincere,

was the best bloody digger I’ve ever been near.

Below is the original layout in Canal Times some decades back.

Below, the crew, referenced in the poem above, are listed as (l to r) Dale, Billybob, Carney, and Ernie.

Any other canal poets and singers out there you wish to promote, even yourself? If so, comment below or contact Dispatches directly.