Hello, Poetry Friend
I first encountered John Masefield as a novelist, in the Christmas book every English child knows — The Box of Delights. It's a bonkers story in which winter brings evil, and children save the day. It features a world that is dark and cold and magical. Send in the kids!
Masefield, who served as England's poet laureate for decades, spent some time on the sea, although not very long. This poem, one of his earliest, remains one of his best known.
Sea-Fever
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 sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey 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 when the long trick’s over.
–John Masefield
I do not lead "the vagrant gypsy life." I can usually deny the sea's "wild call." I've never asked for a "tall ship" or a small boat or even a cranky kayak. And yet I love this poem.
I am at that past-midlife age when I know that the life I'm in is most likely the life I'll keep. Much of that is good (very good). Some of it has me lusting after "all the mornings I never knew." The deserts that are part of my life tempt me to cravings my younger self would never have believed. If leeks and onions by the Nile, why not "the gull's way and the whale's way"?
Last May we went to the coast (aka the Gulf of Mexico) for a few days before Mother’s Day, and it stilled our souls for a busy summer. This May we are staying put, doing home renovations. And longing.
Mnemosyne Tired of waning for someone else her moon expands. She can’t help but unfurl a bit more leg each night. She hesitates: It’s okay. I’m alright. Just be cool. It’s just a phase. I know but I dissect each phrase. Listen, hon, stop all this hate. Speak straight. I’ll wait. Okay? Okay. For now I stay here, firm and furled. What looks like loss is merely curled. So let us play a game of fetch. I’ll toss some words to your next shore. Go. Dig them up (No need to catch, I’ll send you more). – Megan Willome
Poetry Journal
Read Masefield’s poem about the sea and the fever for it.
Jot down what you notice, what you like, what you don’t, what questions you have, and at least one way in which the poem speaks to you.
Read the poem again, aloud (if you didn’t the first time). Is there anything you notice this time that you want to add to your journal?
Write your own poem about the sea. If you like, email me what you write.
Happy poeming!
Megan
Oh, Megan, I can feel the sighs between these lines... and noticed the subtle rhyme as well. Perfect.
And thank you for introducing me to a new word--mnemosyne. Poetry is so good that way...
Megan, I love this post. I read The Box of Delights for the first time this past winter, and it is just as you describe. Wild. Wonderful fun. And coincidentally, my homeschooled daughter read "Sea-Fever" for her poetry unit in December, and I didn't put together that it was the same author! But *your* poem is the gem of this post. I'll be rereading it. It opens something up in me.