Louise T. Guinther

Happy World Oceans Day, everybody! I’m not sure who comes up with these official days in which we honor the earth, the ocean, the doughnut (believe it or not, that was yesterday; and National Strawberry Rhubarb Pie day is tomorrow), but I’m very fond of this particular natural resource, so I’m happy to join in the homage.

The ocean I know and love is the Atlantic, in whose waters I have swum and frolicked whenever I got the chance since early childhood, and whose waves have slapped me silly more often than I care to remember. The sight and smell of the ocean brings back blissful days of yore when, as a wee thing unable to fend for myself against Neptune’s power, I was carried into the swells and currents by my intrepid father and mother, whose ability to keep me safe from the perils of the deep was unquestioned in my mind. A little later, I would walk into the breakers with a parent holding each hand, ready to lift me high over the crashing waves into the salty seaspray.

As my sister and I grew bigger and braver (and maybe stupider), we ventured into the depths on our own and discovered what it was to be “wiped out” — that is, pulled or squashed under the surface of the water and roiled about gathering sand and salt in our noses until we had no idea which was was up and were convinced we were drowning.

The ocean is scary, but it is glorious. There’s nothing more refreshing than the smack of that icy salt water on the top of one’s head. Catching the peak of a wave the right way and riding it all the way to shore is akin to flying. (My friend Jim taught me the trick of sticking my arms out like wings to enhance the sensation and prolong the ride.)

The ocean is full of surprises. The critters that live in it are endlessly fascinating. Over the years, my beach-loving companions and I have bumped into things as ordinary as seaweed, as numerous as herring gulls, as common as clamshells and as ubiquitous as jellyfish. We have also seen, right there on the shores of Fire Island or East Hampton, rays, starfish, dolphins and even a whale who rose up out of the water no more than a few yards from us bathers and swallowed a mouthful of birds.

The ocean is beautiful—colorful and dazzling. To paraphrase my favorite Bard, time cannot alter, nor custom stale, its infinite variety. Sometimes it’s steely grey and forbidding; sometimes it’s green and hazy; sometimes it’s blue and brilliant with sparkles, like a gigantic sapphire. Sometimes it’s as calm and inviting as a sheltered bay, sometimes wild and woolly as a raging beast. Each mood has its own delights, though some are better enjoyed from onshore, a safe distance away.

I cherish the ocean in all its guises. So in tribute to my beloved Atlantic and all the other glorious seas of the earth on this World Oceans Day, I offer a mini-concert of musical tributes (full texts below each clip) — plus, if you make it all the way to the bottom, a limerick and an opportunity to make a practical contribution to the weal of your favorite ocean.

“Ocean! Thou mighty monster!
That liest curled like a green serpent, round about the world!
To musing eye thou art an awesome sight,
When calmly sleeping in the morning light;
But when thou risest in thy wrath, as now,

and fling’st thy folds around some fated prow!
Crushing the strong-ribbed bark as ‘t were a reed!
Then, Ocean, art thou terrible indeed.
The waves become increasingly calm and bright.
Still I see thy billows flashing!
Through the gloom their white foam flinging,
And the breaker’s sullen dashing
In mine ear hope’s knell is ringing.

A few rays of the evening sun, hitherto obscured by the darkness of the storm, break through the clouds.
But lo! methinks a light is breaking
Slowly over the distant deep,
Like a second morn awaking
Pale and feeble from its sleep.

The waves continue to abate.
Brighter now, behold! ’tis beaming!
On the storm, whose misty train

Like some shattered flag is streaming
Or a wild steed’s flying mane.
The evening sun sheds its full glory across the sky.
And now the Sun bursts forth, the wind is lulling fast,
And the broad wave but pants from fury past!
Cloudless over the blushing water,
Now the setting sun is burning,
Like a victor red with slaughter,
To his tent in triumph turning.

The sea becomes quite calm and the clouds part.
Ah! Per chance these eyes may never look upon
This light again!
Fare thee well, bright orb, forever,
Thou for me wilt rise in vain!
The sun sets and a ship glides past from right to left.

But what gleams so white and fair,
Heaving with the heaving billow?
‘Tis a seabird, wheeling there over some
Wretch’s watery pillow!
No! It is no bird, I mark!
Joy! lt is a boat, a sail!
And yonder rides a gallant bark,
Unimpaired by the gale! Oh transport!
My Huon, haste down to the shore!
Quick, quick for a signal, this scarf,
This scarf shall be waved!

They see me! They answer! They ply the strong oar!
Huon! Huon! Huon!
Huon! My husband, my love, we are saved!
We are saved! We are saved!”

“Yes, the sea is blue, so blue — and 

everything’s going as it should. 

And when things are done, they start all 

over again.

Yes, the sea is blue, so blue — and  it’ll 

take a long while.

Yes, the sea is blue, so blue — yes,  the 

sea is blue, so blue.

Yes, the sea is blue, so blue — 

The sea is blue.”

My temples are burning.

I feel a dark flame snaking through my veins.

Ah! Let me breathe the blessed breeze of the open sky.

Oh how refreshing! The sea breeze!

The sea … the sea! Seeing it again

Brings back memories of glorious and sublime exploits.

The sea! Oh why could I not have found my tomb in her bosom?

"Sky and sea! the ethereal curtain
sparkles like a holy altar.
Will my angel come from the sky?
Will my angel come from the sea?
Here I await her; the hot wind
blows, ardent with love
Ah, the man who sighs for you 
is your conqueror, oh golden dreams!

Through the thick air
neither shore nor mountains appear
The horizon kisses the waves;
the waves kiss the horizon.
Here in the shadows, where I lie
waiting with racing heart
Come, my lady, come to my kiss
of life and of love."

Home