| As I descended Rivers undisturbed |
| I sensed the haulers no longer steered me: |
| Howling Redskins took them captive, nailing |
| Them naked like targets to painted poles. |
| I was carefree of all or any crew, |
| Freighting Flemish wheat or English cotton. |
| When that racket with my haulers had done, |
| The Rivers led me wherever I wished. |
| Through the rippling fury of tides, |
| Last winter, emptier than childhood's mind, |
| I ran! And Peninsulas let slip |
| Have not brought down more triumphant hubbub. |
| The tempest has blessed my sea-borne wakings. |
| Lighter than a cork I danced on the waves, |
| Those rolling beds of the eternal dead, |
| Ten nights, no thought for dull-eyed harbor lights! |
| Sweeter then, I've been bathing in the milky |
| Way, in star-steeped Poem of the Sea, |
| Ravenous green azures; where sometimes a drowned |
| Man drifting by, rapt, pale and pensive, goes down. |
| Where, tinting all at once the blue, the slow |
| Delirious rhythms of the day's rosy glow, |
| Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, |
| Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love! |
| I know the heavens cracked by lightning, surfs, |
| Waterspouts and currents: I know the night, |
| And the Dawn exalted like doves in flight; |
| I've seen sometimes what men thought they saw! |
| I've seen the low sun, smeared with mystic awe, |
| Lit with violet congealing fingers, |
| The rolling waves, like actors in old plays, |
| Their shuttered shivering so far away! |
| I've dreamt the night green to the dazzling snows, |
| Kissing to the sea's eyes climbing and slow, |
| Unheard-of juices' flow, blue and yellow |
| The waking of singing phosphorescence! |
| For months I've followed hysterical herds |
| Of surf surging and crashing on the reefs, |
| Without dreaming Mary's luminous feet |
| Could force back the panting Ocean's muzzle! |
| I've jostled incredible Floridas, |
| You know, mingling flowers with the panther's eyes |
| On the skins of men! Rainbows stretched like reins |
| To the seas' limits, gleaming doves of grey! |
| I've seen enormous bogs fermenting, snares |
| Where in the reeds a Leviathan rots! |
| Waterfalls crashing in the midst of calms, |
| And horizons tumbling into chaos! |
| Glaciers, silver suns, pearly waves, fiery skies! |
| Hideous wrecks in the depths of dark harbors |
| Where giant serpents devoured by insects |
| Drop with black perfumes out of twisted trees! |
| I'd shown these Eldorados to children, |
| Blue seas, these golden fish, those fish who sing. |
| - Flowering foams have cradled my driftings; |
| Ineffable winds gave me timely wings. |
| Sometimes the sea, wearied martyr of poles |
|
| And zones, whose sobs had me gently rolling, |
| Raised her yellow cupped shady blooms to me |
| And I rested, like a woman kneeling... |
| All but an island, I sideswiped quarrels |
| And the turds of clamoring blond-eyed birds, |
| And I sailed, while through my fragile rigging |
| The drowned fell back, descending into sleep! |
| Now I, in the ringlets of back bays lost, |
| A boat in the birdless air, storm-tossed, |
| The Monitors and the schooners of Hanse |
| Wouldn't salvage my water-sloshed carcass; |
| Free and fuming, decked with violet fogs, |
| I who pierced the blushing sky like a wall, |
| Bearing solar fungus and azure snot, |
| The exquisite jam of all good poets, |
| Who ran, spattered with electric lunettes, |
| Planking warped, black seahorses in escort, |
| While the hammering heat of these Julys |
| Beat fiery funnels out of sea-blue skies; |
| I, who trembled fifty leagues off, hearing |
| Behemoths in rut, gross Maelstroms moaning, |
| Eternal spinner of motionless blues, |
| I miss the Europe of ancient ramparts! |
| I've seen atolls full of stars! and islands |
| Whose fevered skies are open to drifters: |
| - Exiled in these deepless nights do you sleep, |
| Countless golden birds, O future Vigors? - |
| Too true, too many tears! Dawns of heartbreak. |
| Each moon is cruel, and every sun bitter: |
| I'm swollen with harsh love's drunken torpor. |
| O let my keel burst! Let me go to the sea! |
| If there's water in Europe for me |
| It's the cool, dark pond at balmy twilight |
| Where a child squats full of sadness, launching |
| A frail boat like a butterfly in May. |
| Bathed in your languors, O waves, no longer |
| Can I clear the wake of cotton freighters, |
| Nor pass through blazoned flags and banners' pride |
| Nor pull beneath prison hulks' dismal eyes. |
