“Call me Ishmael. Some years ago — never mind how long precisely — having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off — then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me. There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs — commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme down-town is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there. Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall northward. What do you see? — Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries.”
– Herman Melville, Moby Dick
The Fish
Elizabeth Bishop
Elizabeth Bishop
I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of its mouth.
He didn’t fight.
He hadn’t fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
— the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly —
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
— It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
— if you could call it a lip —
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels — until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of its mouth.
He didn’t fight.
He hadn’t fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
— the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly —
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
— It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
— if you could call it a lip —
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels — until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.
Top Five Submarines:
1. The Nautilus (both Jules Verne’s and the U.S.S. Nautilus, the first nuclear sub)
2. Confederate States Submarine H.L. Hunley
3. Red October
4. The Turtle
5. Yellow
2. Confederate States Submarine H.L. Hunley
3. Red October
4. The Turtle
5. Yellow
For more on the U.S.S. Nautilus: http://www.ussnautilus.org/history.html
For more on the Hunley: http://www.thehunley.com/
More on the American Revolutionary submarine The Turtle: http://inventors.about.com/library/inventors/blsubmarine5.htm
Unbelievable But Real Film Titles of the Week:
Canary of the Ocean (1998)
Ocean Bruise (1964)
Ocean Buzz (2003)
Ships of the Sea Maritime Museum in Savannah, Georgia:
On the seven deadly sins topic from a few weeks back, a reader sends in “Get out of hell free” merchandise:
A reader writes in on bookstore cats:
“A bookstore cat link without the mention of Fup the cat from Powells? Back when Powells was a bit more, shall we say, petite, Fup could be found sunbathing behind the registers and in the back room. If you were lucky, she might even look your way . . . but probably not. Read her newsletter entries/blog and see her recommend reads at:”
Invaluable Facts of the Week:
If the ocean’s total salt content were dried, it would cover the continents to a depth of 5 feet.
The highest tides in the world are at the Bay of Fundy, which separates New Brunswick from Nova Scotia. At some times of the year the difference between high and low tide is 53 feet 6 inches, the equivalent of a three-story building.
The oceans cover 71 percent of the Earth’s surface and contain 97 percent of the Earth’s water. Less than 1 percent is fresh water, and 2-3 percent is contained in glaciers and ice caps.
Daniel Abday Moore’s Mars and Beyond:
[The podcast will feature a recording of his reading from this book. This ties into the water theme because he was inspired to write these poems by the discovery of water on Mars. – E]
Check out the musical number “Under the Sea” from the Simpsons:
Under the sea,
Under the sea,
There’ll be no accusations,
Just friendly crustaceans
Under the Seeeeeeeeeeeeea!
Under the sea,
There’ll be no accusations,
Just friendly crustaceans
Under the Seeeeeeeeeeeeea!
This week’s towns you really have to visit:
Cold Water, Mississippi
AND
Hot Water, Mississippi
Bonus poem
The Kraken
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Below the thunders of the upper deep,
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides; above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous and secret cell
Unnumbered and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant fins the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge sea-worms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides; above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous and secret cell
Unnumbered and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant fins the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge sea-worms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.
An E-Verser peddled across the Atlantic and from California to Hawaii in a pedal boat. His new book and website about the experience are available:
Visit the Ocean Conservancy:
Bonus ocean list
Top Five Sea Monsters:
1. Sigmund
2. Kraken
3. Scylla
4. Sirens
5. Selkies
2. Kraken
3. Scylla
4. Sirens
5. Selkies
For more on Selkies, visit: http://echoes.devin.com/selkie/selkie.html
More on sea monsters, real and imagined: http://www.cdli.ca/CITE/monsters_sea_monsters.htm
For more on the Kraken: http://www.monstrous.com/monsters/kraken.htm
Check out the video of Sigmund the Sea Monster: http://www.70slivekidvid.com/satsm.htm
[Note before anyone writes in, the Nessie, Tessi, and Champi are, technically speaking, “lake monsters” not sea monsters. Creature from the black lagoon is a “lagoon monster.”And I don’t want to hear anything about Jaws. He was just a big shark. – E]
I didn’t fit this into last week’s Home and Hearth show, but take a look at Dictator Style: Lifestyles of the World’s Most Colorful Despots:
“Can you imagine a planet where ninety-nine percent of the living space is ocean? You don’t have to. You’re living on it!” says Discovery Planet Ocean. Take a look:
A reader sends in a concert announcement:
“We all know how the Christmas season ends — after the shopping, the commercials, the new credit card debt. So, why not start it off right at least with a Sarah Lentz Dickinson Christmas Show? Sarah Lentz Dickinson, singer, songwriter, pianist, is performing her 3rd Annual Christmas Concert on December 9th at 7 pm St. Paul’s Church in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, 199 Carroll Street, Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn, NY 11231.”
Paul comments on top five literary mice:
“What, no Maus, by Art Spiegelmen?”
An E-Verser writes in from Greece on the top five literary mice:
“I think Psicharpax (Crumb-snatcher) from the ancient Greek mock-epic “Battle of the Frogs and the Mice” might have a better claim to the top five ranking than the anonymous (anonymouse?) City Mouse.”
Some extra top five lists, never before seen, from the vault:
Top five writers known for writing in a language other than their mother tongue
1. Samuel Beckett (wrote in French, native English speaker)
2. Joseph Conrad (wrote in English, native Polish speaker)
3. Anne Frank (wrote in Dutch, native German speaker, though moved to the Netherlands when she was five)
4. Kazuo Ishiguro (writes in English, native Japanese speaker, though moved to England when he was six)
5. Vladimir Nabokov (wrote in English, native Russian speaker, though raised bilingual)
2. Joseph Conrad (wrote in English, native Polish speaker)
3. Anne Frank (wrote in Dutch, native German speaker, though moved to the Netherlands when she was five)
4. Kazuo Ishiguro (writes in English, native Japanese speaker, though moved to England when he was six)
5. Vladimir Nabokov (wrote in English, native Russian speaker, though raised bilingual)
Top five famous writers who came really really close to dying, saved by only chance
1. Galileo Galilei went hiking with some friends and they rested in a cave. Some kind of noxious gas was in the cave, and several of his companions died. He suffered intermittently from problems with his health thereafter.
2. Ernest Hemingway: among his many brushes with death, he was almost killed while an ambulance driver during WWI. Indeed, he was expected to die and they wanted to administer last rites but he refused. He did, however, consent to be baptised.
3. Paul Auster: was profoundly affected when, as a child, a camper right next to him was struck and killed by lightning.
4. J.R.R. Tolkien: survived trench warfare in WWI, while almost all of his friends were killed.
5. C.S. Lewis: also survived trench warfare in WWI, while almost all of his friends were killed.
Top five people that died doing what they love
5. Attila the Hun (Binging) Ate and drank so much on his wedding night he didn’t notice his nosebleed.
4. John Belushi (Drugs)
3. Dale Earnhart (Racing)
2. Jim Fixx (Jogging) Guru actually died just a few steps into his morning run at 52.
1. Steve Irwin (Teasing Animals)
4. John Belushi (Drugs)
3. Dale Earnhart (Racing)
2. Jim Fixx (Jogging) Guru actually died just a few steps into his morning run at 52.
1. Steve Irwin (Teasing Animals)
Top five worst date movies:
1. Irreversible
2. Kill Bill: Part 1
3. The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover
4. A Clockwork Orange
5. Eraserhead
2. Kill Bill: Part 1
3. The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover
4. A Clockwork Orange
5. Eraserhead
Visit the Dolphin Research Center:
A reader on a collective noun for poets:
“A peck of poets; a pen of poets; a pint of poets. A pox of poets? A plague of poets?”
Another:
“How about an assonance of poets? (or at least, poets often make an assonance of themselves . . .)”
E-Verse collective noun of the week:
A raft of sea otters.
Pier 39 Sea Lion cam:
A reader writes in:
“I notice someone has mentioned poetic spam. I am receiving increasingly strange and random spam in my work email. This morning I received a spam email which said ‘Call out Gouranga be happy / Gouranga Gouranga Gouranga! / That which brings the highest happiness’ . . . which is a nice way to start the day.”
Visit the dolphin game page:
A reader on last week’s Auden poem:
“I remember first reading About the House. I was a young poet then, soon to be headed for graduate school, and reading Auden’s poetry usually left me feeling like the young violinists who heard Jascha Heifetz were said to (they realized they either had to give up the violin entirely or practice a hell of a lot harder). I wondered if the giant had shrunk when I read those poems. A few years later, I lived two blocks below 77 St. Marks Place, where Auden had lived the thirty years up to his death, and walking up the street and simply knowing the building’s history strangely enthused me on my way to work at a Park Avenue accounting firm. Later, I worked on Wall Street, across the street from the New York Stock Exchange, and to save money I would walk the 2 miles home from work, and I memorized Marvell and Frost and ‘Musee des Beaux-Arts’ on those autumn walks. But I’m not writing to you to reminisce about that — no, it’s to bring our collective attention to some of the most curious, remarkable but generally unremarked lines of poetry of our times: the closing stanzas of ‘Under Which Lyre: A Reactionary Tract for the Times (Phi Beta Kappa Poem, Harvard, 1946).’ True, the poem’s strange mash-up of college commentary and Greek pantheon has its bizarre energy (the WWII veterans returned to school with ‘nerves that steeled themselves to slaughter / Are shot to pieces by the shorter / Poems of Donne’). But as it runs on and on, the poem’s cleverness begins to pall and the language pales and you’re about to throw in the towel when, abruptly, it pulls away from its descriptive humors about the battle between Apollo and Hermes (beauty and truth) and closes with ten rollicking commandments for the academic:
Keep well the Hermetic Decalogue,
Which runs as follows:–
Which runs as follows:–
Thou shalt not do as the dean pleases,
Thou shalt not write thy doctor’s thesis
On education,
Thou shalt not worship projects nor
Shalt thou or thine bow down before
Administration.
Thou shalt not write thy doctor’s thesis
On education,
Thou shalt not worship projects nor
Shalt thou or thine bow down before
Administration.
Thou shalt not answer questionnaires
Or quizzes upon World-Affairs,
Nor with compliance
Take any test. Thou shalt not sit
With statisticians nor commit
A social science.
Or quizzes upon World-Affairs,
Nor with compliance
Take any test. Thou shalt not sit
With statisticians nor commit
A social science.
Thou shalt not be on friendly terms
With guys in advertising firms,
Nor speak with such
As read the Bible for its prose,
Nor, above all, make love to those
Who wash too much.
With guys in advertising firms,
Nor speak with such
As read the Bible for its prose,
Nor, above all, make love to those
Who wash too much.
Thou shalt not live within thy means
Nor on plain water and raw greens.
If thou must choose
Between the chances, choose the odd;
Read The New Yorker, trust in God;
And take short views.
Nor on plain water and raw greens.
If thou must choose
Between the chances, choose the odd;
Read The New Yorker, trust in God;
And take short views.
Actually I could never get ten out of this. I get, variously, eight or thirteen or sometimes twelve. Any help out there?”
WRITERS AT THE ALLIANCE
Three writers read from their recent novels: CLIFFORD CHASE, Winkie, CHRISTOPHER SORRENTINO, Trance, DANA SPIOTTA, Eat the Document
Tuesday, November 28
Educational Alliance of New York
197 East Broadway (F train to East Broadway, two blocks to Jefferson)
7PM, Free
Educational Alliance of New York
197 East Broadway (F train to East Broadway, two blocks to Jefferson)
7PM, Free
Writers at the Alliance, the Educational Alliance’s reading series, brings together established and emerging novelists, poets and essayists whose work, in both form and content, reflects the energy, diversity, and history of dissent which have always characterized the Lower East Side. For more details, contact Liz Brown at browne@newschool.edu, call the Educational Alliance at (212) 780-2300, ext. 378., or visit http://www.killfee.net/alliance.
E-Verse Radio is all at sea this week. It is a regular weekly column of literary, publishing, and arts information and opinion that has gone out since 1999. It is brought to you by ERNEST HILBERT and currently enjoys over 1,300 readers and an ever-increasing audience of listeners on iTunes and elsewhere. Please send top five lists, bad movie titles, limericks, facts, comments, and new readers along whenever you like; simply click reply and I’ll get back to you.
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