Sea Fever (1)

Here are some of my favourite out-of-copyright poems. I'd like to share them with you. This first was one of my mother's favourites too.

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

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 sails 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 gipsy 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

(Poem by John Masefield. Photos by The Solitary Walker. The tall, square-rigged ship lies moored in Charlestown dockyard near St Austell. The other pics show a stormy day in Porthleven, except the last one which is a view looking back at Land's End.)

Camino Fever

I must go down to the South again, to the lonely road and the sky,
And all I ask is a winding path and a star to see her by;
It´s a long road, it´s a hard road, it´s a strange road to the end,
And all I ask is a loaf of bread and a jug of wine, my friend.

The wind is whistling through the oaks, the larks are singing sweet,
And all I ask is a stranger´s smile and some balm for my aching feet.
How dark the soul in the dead of night! But how bright the morning sun!
And all I ask is a warm bed before the day is done.

I must go down to the South again, the Camino is calling me,
Down to a place of love and grace where the heart beats wild and free,
And all I ask is a rinsed-clean mind, and some clarity of thought,
And a book and a staff and a scallop shell, and to find what it was I sought.

John Masefield wrote reams of poems which are little read today - perhaps deservedly so in most cases. They haven´t really stood the test of time, and are not today´s style at all. But two of his poems I´m rather fond of: Cargoes, which I recall having to learn at school - it´s a dazzling little poem, full of onomatopoeia - and Sea Fever, which I remember my mother used to recite (she was of a romantic turn of mind, and was forever escaping a humdrum existence by immersing herself in a world of novels and poetry). I´ve parodied Sea Fever in the poem above, which I knocked together in my head today as I walked from Mérida to Aljucén. As far as I remember, Sea Fever begins: I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky, / And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by...

(Posted from Aljucén, on the Vía de la Plata, Spain.)