“The mother that I never knew,” the Japanese poet Issa once wrote, “Every time I see the ocean./ Every time.” That sums up my longing, as well. I ache to return.
I keep hoping someone will bequeath me a submarine, or perhaps a tall masted sailing ship … a practical gift if running off to sea is on your “To Do” list.
I also daydream about turning an abandoned oil platform into some sort of art colony and invite all my friends along. There’s a charming old rust bucket called Platform Holly off the coast of Santa Barbara that I would more than be willing to consider. According to one article it would cost the state over $350 million to break down and physically remove the platform. Look at the money I’m save the government! Plus, legend has it that Holly, seen at night from the beach at Isla Vista, inspired Jim Morrison (of The Doors fame) to write, The Crystal Ship. This is an older poem but it also sums up my longings, as well:
To: Bureau of Ocean Energy Management (BOEM)
You have forsaken oil platforms dotting
the coast. Locals call them eyesores. I call
them a queer Muse. Sadly, they're bewitching,
ghostly and waiting for the perfect squall
to rift under. Instead, let one live out
its long golden years as a shrine, an art
commune, a haven for all us devout,
seafaring witches. We'll bring all our hearts
and Craft to this sanctum. Eh? No, listen:
it's like H.D.'s Sea Garden –– we'll transform
flotsam into lore. We'll live without sin
or oil spills. We'll turn other's pollution
into the realm of maritime brainstorms
and myth-making. This is how myths begin.
