Today I’m visiting Monterey, a city resting on the southern end of the picturesque Monterey Bay on what is known as Central California’s Pacific Coast. It’s most well-known for its aquarium and John Steinbeck. So what does this have to do with poems? Well, since it is a coastal town, I thought I’d share one of my favorite seafaring poems.
Like yesterday’s post, this poem for me hearkens back to elementary school. When I was in 5th grade, we did an overnight field trip to the C.A. Thayer, a historic shipping vessel that rests in San Francisco Bay. We spent weeks preparing to take over the ship for a night and run it as it would have been run during its heyday of the late 1800s/early 1900s. We were split into crews (I was mate of the Galley Crew, meaning I was in charge of the kitchen group), learned to tie different knots (thank goodness the Galley Crew did not have to tie knots – my inability to do so motivated me to put it as my first choice), sang sea shanties, practiced the boat lingo, researched the time period…it was very intense. This poem was one of the things we learned during this whole experience. I think even if I discovered it today I would like its cadenced flow, but because it’s associated with one of my more special memories from childhood, it holds a special nostalgia.
Sea Fever
By John Masefield
I must go 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
sails shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face and a gray dawn
breaking.
I must go 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 go 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 with the long trick’s
over.
A Semi Nomadic Kind of Life 