Poem for my mum!

 

“Sea-Fever”
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
By John Masefield (1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

“Sea-Fever”

 

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

 

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

 

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

 

By John Masefield (1878-1967).

(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

 

(actually it’s courtesy of Sov, via Ed, and I hear Dick likes it too. after the record longest phone conversation with ever, 3 hours 11 minutes and counting! but also productive, I now have some excellent feedback for my essay)

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2 Responses to “Poem for my mum!”

  1. greeneyed monster Says:

    How I love that poem, and how I specialise in living in ALL the WRONG places for it! Makes me regret all the islands I didn’t have time to visit in Hong Kong. Which the following poem makes me think of, too.

    LAST NIGHT THE RAIN SPOKE TO ME (by Mary Oliver)

    Last night
    the rain
    spoke to me
    slowly, saying

    what joy
    to come falling
    out of the brisk cloud,
    to be happy again

    in a new way
    on the earth!
    That’s what it said
    as it dropped,

    smelling of iron,
    and vanished
    like a dream of the ocean
    into the branches

    and the grass below.
    Then it was over.
    The sky cleared.
    I was standing

    under a tree.
    The tree was a tree
    with happy leaves,
    and I was myself,

    and there were stars in the sky
    that were also themselves
    at the moment,
    at which moment

    my right hand
    was holding my left hand
    which was holding the tree
    which was filled with stars

    and the soft rain—
    imagine! imagine!
    the long and wondrous journeys
    still to be ours.

  2. dick Says:

    Just spent 4 days sailing giving this poem additional resonance. I love it!

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