Physically rendered, it once was said,
And crowning that prow, the royal old dame,
The Western shore, its magnificent cliffs
A myriad of creatures find haven here--
Here the large prospects are dwarfed by the small:
Silvery herring with their pearl essence
And lovers who find their peace by the sea
Bluebells, potentilla, lupine, beach pea,
Bushy alder and delicate aspen
The senses are sharpened by sights and sounds
And off in the distance, the herring weirs
My latent need to return to the shore
To live where the tides give shape to my days,
My special heritage of Baltic Finn
I dream of an island of craggy cliffs
Praises for herons, and swallows, and terns;
A sonnet of cliffs that rise from the sea,
So end the sonnets that sing of the lore
Is it the sea in me that makes
This poetry was written after our first trip to Grand Manan, and during a period when I was trying...badly...to write sonnets. I apologize for the terrible meter. I never did perfect that form.
Grand Manan sails like a craft on the sea,
Pushing her way through the Bay of Fundy,
Her prow the bold cliffs of the proud North Head.
Swallowtail Light, stands as the figurehead,
Guiding the small island craft to their beds,
Adorned by the birds who gave her their name.
And stalwart spruces braving fiercesome storms,
Affords little safety from roaring seas.
Welcoming harbors on the lea shore lift
Spirits, sheltering villages and farms.
Life is sustained by the bountiful sea.
The puffin, the seal, the sea-hardened man.
Sturdy as the native spruce growing near,
They build safe, snug homes on the leaward lands.
The lupine, the primrose, the beach pea, all
Weave a richly blended sweet tapestry
That graces the roadsides near glist'ning sea.
Provide hard-won livings for Grand Manan.
This fecundity and beneficence
Fills coffers and bellies on the island.
Have forged their bonds through long adversity.
Their very names ring like a symphony.
The waves' chorale sings a sea lullaby,
The counterpoint is the herring gull's cry.
Cling to the rock, resolute spruce stand tall.
Creeping juniper, cinquefoil grow in
Carpets luxurious, covering all.
And magnificent odors that surround:
Salmon hatchery, herring cannery,
Wildflowers, song sparrows, birds of the sea.
Stand as testaments to the manna there.
Blossomed to fullness on green Grand Manan.
A grey-shingled cottage, weathered and shorn
Of pretentions inhabits my dreamlands.
To pattern my life on nature's rhythm,
To live harmoniously on Fundy's Bay
Would be my creed and personal hymn.
And New England whalemen has left its print.
My heart responds to the enticing hint
Of paradise whispering on the wind
And the splendor of this union so dear
Would thrive in this rarified atmosphere.
And quiet harbors with 30-foot tides.
And the songs I sing as my spirit lifts
Are the praises that in my heart abide.
Praises for beach peas covering barren sand;
Praises for kelp and dulse and the burn
Of the hot sun on the fog-stifled land.
Sharp, merciless rocks that have scuttled ships;
Perpendicular peril, majestically
Demanding obeisance, springs from my lips.
Of Grand Manan and its beautiful shores.
me long to live on Grand Manan?
Is it the snug little houses hug-
ging the shore that call me home?
Is it the names that ring along
the tongue that sing a homing song?
Or the coves, "Seal" and "Whale" and Deep"
The harbours, "Dark" and oh so "Grand"
The heads, "Ingalls", "Southern', "North",
The lights, "Southwest", and Swallowtail"?
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