Journey-Charms

Old clay.

Signal Phrase

On Loch Lomond.

Boats and Gear

The Other Selfie

Sofia in Mendocino.

Profile Pics: A Summer Version

Or, "Mere Mortal II".

In The Fog

Four Friends Fog-Fishing,
Hope and a Hook,
or Existential Crisis #4?

Where Are You Headed?

Happy Sailing To You

 Voyage charm, underwater:
sculpture mix;
cobalt carbonate oxide;
tidepool.

Hmmm.  Are there metaphysical difficulties in my showing off this particular good-luck piece underwater?

Graves: "Heroes of the Nursery"

THE BEACH

Louder than gulls the little children scream 
Whom fathers haul into the jovial foam; 
But others fearlessly rush in, breast high, 
Laughing the salty water from their mouthes-- 
Heroes of the nursery. 

The horny boatman, who has seen whales 
And flying fishes, who has sailed as far 
As Demerara and the Ivory Coast, 
Will warn them, when they crowd to hear his tales, 
That every ocean smells of tar. 

--Robert Graves

Riddles at Random

. . . in the rain.

The Journey

Sculpture mix, unfired.

I am yearning for kelp.

Sea-Level

JP in the water and adjusting gear -- with Pacific Grove in the background.

My kayak is still "anchored" to some kelp, but the kelp's holdfast isn't actually anchored to the bottom, so this shot is taken just as I am realizing that Sofia, my kayak, is drifting away with the slight breeze.  Fortunately, I was paying attention and was able to catch her before she had traveled too far away.  That could have been embarrassing.

Also, I'm thinking that the position of the line in relation to the position of the kayak should have told me immediately that something just wasn't right. When such a boat is secured, the line would be holding the bow into the wind, and the line and the boat would be aligned in one direction. Here, the boat has drifted broadside to the breeze, and it is towing the light line and loose kelp as it drifts away.

Thunder, Free, Curse: Three Poems from Brendan Kennelly

SPECIAL THUNDER

He had to reach the island in the winter gale.
From Saleen Quay he pushed the little boat
Over the rough stones till she came afloat;
You'd swear he could see nothing when he hoisted sail
And cut the dark.  Once a grey shape blurred
Above his head while pitchblack water slapped
And tried to climb over the side but dropped
Into the sea, thwarted.  In time, he heard

The special thunder of the island shore,
He hauled the boat in, sheltered near a rock
And smiled to hear the sea's defeated roar;
Breathing as though the air were infinitely sweet,
He watched the mainland where the hard wind struck.
The island clay felt good beneath his feet.


FREE

Once ever a boat capsized on Red
So simply he couldn't tell why.
One moment the sun caressed his head,
The next, his world was water.  His eyes
Opened, closed, hurt by the urgent green
That pressed him down, down into the mud
Until his face touched the obscene
Slime.  Strange, though, how foul touch calmed his blood.

His grey head about to split in pieces,
He kicked free, free till he broke into the air.
Breathing hugely, he righted his craft in time,
Clambered aboard.  Ghoulish faces
Of water haunted him, seemed to stare
At his repose.  The sun tasted of green slime.


CURSE

They said a curse was on the boat.
It would never put to sea again
Because two men were lost from it.
Red bought it from a fisherman
For thirty pounds and four tides later
Headed it out into the Shannon.
'There's no such thing as luck,' we heard him mutter
'There's but the skill and strength of a man

With sure hands and sense in his head.
And one thing more.  Luck was never known
To drown the living or raise the dead
But many a cocksure man went down
Because his trust was not where it should be.
Out there, forget your brothers.  Trust the sea.'


--BRENDAN KENNELLY,
from his Love Cry sequence,
collected in Breathing Spaces: Early Poems,
Bloodaxe Books, 1992.

The Gate From The North

Reprise: Exercise In Blue

Salvage / Boat:
sculpture mix; blue slip; twig; string; and copper wire.

Old project; mistake, improved upon.
Still cheers me.

Wishful Thinking?

An odd emblem there for a very tippy craft.

Yuletide Charms

I've kept the elves busy making charms: deer (design from an ornament by Jen Delyth) and ship (design from an ornament copied from an ancient Norse memorial stone).

Keepsakes and Conjurations

Charms: sculpture mix; blue, green, brown glazing (items dipped and rubbed away, mostly).
Ancient designs for the Viking ships; Jen Delyth's Celtic deer design also.

I'm not entirely happy with the way the glazing has been turning out.  Too much water in the mix, perhaps.  I'd envisioned slightly different outcomes, as they say in my field.

Montague's "Upstream"

UPSTREAM

Northwards, annually,
a journeying back,
the salmon's leap
& pull to the source:
my wife, from the shore
at Roche's Point, calls
John, come in, come home,
your mother is dead.

We pull the curragh
into shallow water,
haul her above tide
level, two sets of lean
insect legs stumbling
up the stony beach,
the curve of the boat
heavy on our napes
before we lift her
high on the trestles,
then store the long,
light oars, deliberately 
neat and calm in crisis,
keeping the mind busy.

Under the lighthouse dome
the strangeness of Evelyn
weeping for someone
she has never known --
her child's grandmother --
while I stand, dryeyed,
phoning and phoning a cousin
until, cursing, I turn
to feel his shadow loom
across the threshold.

Secret, lonely messages
along the air, older than
humming telephone wires,
blood talk, neglected 
affinities of family,
antennae of instinct
reaching through space,
first intelligence.

(The night O Riada dies
a friend wakes up in 
the South of France,
feeling a great lightness,
a bird taking off.)

--John Montague

Salvage Work

 Fisherman's Blues II: sculpture mix: blue slip & clear glaze; twine; twig; copper fishhooks.