She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
\nThe water never formed to mind or voice,
\nLike a body wholly body, fluttering
\nIts empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
\nMade constant cry, caused constantly a cry,
\nThat was not ours although we understood,
\nInhuman, of the veritable ocean.<\/p>\n
The sea was not a mask. No more was she.
\nThe song and water were not medleyed sound
\nEven if what she sang was what she heard,
\nSince what she sang was uttered word by word.
\nIt may be that in all her phrases stirred
\nThe grinding water and the gasping wind;
\nBut it was she and not the sea we heard.<\/p>\n
For she was the maker of the song she sang.
\nThe ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
\nWas merely a place by which she walked to sing.
\nWhose spirit is this? we said, because we knew
\nIt was the spirit that we sought and knew
\nThat we should ask this often as she sang.<\/p>\n
If it was only the dark voice of the sea
\nThat rose, or even colored by many waves;
\nIf it was only the outer voice of sky
\nAnd cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled,
\nHowever clear, it would have been deep air,
\nThe heaving speech of air, a summer sound
\nRepeated in a summer without end
\nAnd sound alone. But it was more than that,
\nMore even than her voice, and ours, among
\nThe meaningless plungings of water and the wind,
\nTheatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
\nOn high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
\nOf sky and sea.<\/p>\n
It was her voice that made
\nThe sky acutest at its vanishing.
\nShe measured to the hour its solitude.
\nShe was the single artificer of the world
\nIn which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,
\nWhatever self it had, became the self
\nThat was her song, for she was the maker. Then we,
\nAs we beheld her striding there alone,
\nKnew that there never was a world for her
\nExcept the one she sang and, singing, made.<\/p>\n
Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know,
\nWhy, when the singing ended and we turned
\nToward the town, tell why the glassy lights,
\nThe lights in the fishing boats at anchor there,
\nAs the night descended, tilting in the air,
\nMastered the night and portioned out the sea,
\nFixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles,
\nArranging, deepening, enchanting night.<\/p>\n
Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon,
\nThe maker\u2019s rage to order words of the sea,
\nWords of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred,
\nAnd of ourselves and of our origins,
\nIn ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
She sang beyond the genius of the sea. The water never formed to mind or voice, Like a body wholly body, fluttering Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry, That was not ours although we understood, Inhuman, of the veritable ocean. The sea was not a mask. … <\/p>\n