Archives for posts with tag: ocean


“The Artist on the Seashore at Palavas” by Gustave Courbet (1819-1877)

Many of the photographs taken before, during, and after Hurricane Sandy have reminded me of favorite paintings, including the one above by French artist Gustave Courbet.



Poem by Gaia Holmes 

“There are plenty more
fish in the sea,”
he tells you with conviction
knowing, as he does,
the whole spectrum
of glitter, silver fin and gill.
He knows fish
that would shock
with their electric,
sheepish fish that graze
on plankton, sea furze
and the moss
that clads shipwrecks.
He knows fish
that you can trust
for their regularity,
fish that get high
on the lights
of midnight trawlers,
fish that freeze
by the clank and hum
of ocean liners.
He knows fish
that fall in love
with pebbles,
fish that get giddy
when wind
fingers the waves.
He knows fish
that would gracefully
take your hook
into their mouths
without wincing.

NOTE: “Fish” and two other poems by Gaia Holmes will appear in the upcoming Silver Birch Press release Silver: An Eclectic Anthology of Poetry & Prose (available November 15, 2012).

Illustration: Drylcon Graphics


The Life of Pi, Chapter 78 (Excerpt)

by Yann Martel

…to be a castaway is to be caught up in grim and exhausting opposites.

When it is light, the openness of the sea is blinding and frightening.

When it is dark, the darkness is claustrophobic.

When it is day, you are hot and wish to be cool and dream of ice cream and pour sea water on yourself.

When it is night, you are cold and wish to be warm and dream of hot curries and wrap yourself in blankets.

When it is hot, you are parched and wish to be wet.

When it rains, you are nearly drowned and wish to be dry.

When there is food, there is too much of it and you must feast.

When there is none, there is truly none and you starve.

When the sea is flat and motionless, you wish it would stir.

When it rises up and the circle that imprisons you is broken by the hills of water, you suffer that peculiarity of the high seas, suffocation in open spaces, and you wish the sea would be flat again.



The Life of Pi, Chapter 78 (Excerpt)

by Yann Martel

There were many seas.

The sea roared like a tiger.

The sea whispered in your ear like a friend telling you secrets.

The sea clinked like small change in a pocket.

The sea thundered like avalanches.

The sea hissed like sandpaper working on wood.

The sea sounded like someone vomiting.

The sea was dead silent.

And in between the two, in between the sky and the sea, were all the winds.

And there were all the nights and all the moons.