Kelp and Sofia

Bathing Beauty

Sofia's Bottom; Or, A View I've Been Missing

That's the keel of my kayak, Sofia, as seen from below, from the basic free diving perspective, and that's one view I've sorely missed.

There's a cheeriness about sighting Sofia's bottom as I rise up from below, even if I'm not planning to clamber back aboard anytime soon.

The yellow is quite obviously a jaunty color, but her presence is more than a mere color or look. When I see her where I expect to, I know I haven't been pulled off track by any unnoticed currents. If I want to climb out, there she is, whether I just want to warm up, to grab a piece of gear, or to paddle off to a new divespot. If I am weary from all the hard swimming and held breaths, she offers a platform to rest upon. If I am getting spooked from sharky thoughts, well, there's eleven or so feet of plastic sanctuary.

Mostly, Sofia has been my companion up and down the coast, as far south as Morro Bay and as far north, so far, as Mendocino. I haven't been diving, or even swimming, due to work demands and too many illnesses strung one after another, cold to flu to sore throat to whatever bug is going around. So, looking at any shot of my kayak, even this one from beneath, especially this one from beneath, is both heartening and tantalizing.

I need to take Sofia out soon. She deserves it. We deserve it.

Okay, maybe I'll take some Sudafed and try a light workout later today. First step towards some kind of fitness. I've been missing the pool so much also.

"Keel or Reef": Four Poems by Louise Bogan

I've been reading around in Louise Bogan's The Blue Estuaries: Poems 1923-1968, and I wanted to share a handful that definitely hold my attention. I hope they please you too.

TO AN ARTIST, TO TAKE HEART

Slipping in blood, by his own hand, through pride,

Hamlet, Othello, Coriolanus fall.

Upon his bed, however, Shakespeare died,

Having endured them all.

CARTOGRAPHY

As you lay in sleep

I saw the chart

Of artery and vein

Running from your heart,

Plain as the strength

Marked upon the leaf

Along the length,

Mortal and brief,

Of your gaunt hand.

I saw it clear:

The wiry brand

Of the life we bear

Mapped like the great

Rivers that rise

Beyond our fate

And distant from our eyes.

ZONE

We have struck the regions wherein we are keel or reef.

The wind breaks over us,

And against high sharp angles almost splits into words,

And these are of fear or grief.

Like a ship, we have struck expected latitudes

Of the universe, in March.

Through one short segment's arch

Of the zodiac's round

We pass,

Thinking: Now we hear

What we heard last year,

And bear the wind's rude touch

And its ugly sound

Equally with so much

We have learned how to bear.

MUSICIAN

Where these hands have been,

By what delayed,

That so long stayed

Apart from the thin

Strings which they now grace

With their lonely skill?

Music and their cool will

At last interlace.

Now with great ease, and slow,

The thumb, the finger, the strong

Delicate hand plucks the long

String it was born to know.

And, under the palm, the string

Sings as it wished to sing.