They are watching you.
Peter Pan, directed by Herbert Brenon (1924)
Just about the time the vise is closing on my temples and I’m wondering if I have enough air for the return trip, my hands plunge into mud and almost instantly close on what feel like smooth, fist-sized rocks. I grab as many as I can and kick hard for the surface and explode into air, clutching handfuls of glossy black Mercenaria mercenaria. Then Bun shoots up with even bigger ones, and the quahog hunt is on. We are rooting in the mud like manatees, filling our sacks with clams and gasping for air in between. Eventually, I struggle back to the boat with a sack that feels as if it is full of bowling balls.
Half an hour later, we have commandeered an island of pink rock in the middle of the sound and chased the oystercatchers away. The burner under the wok is roaring like a jet engine, and shore crabs are dancing in dark sesame oil. Bun adds ginger, garlic, periwinkles, and dead man’s fingers and cooks it down into a mushy green marine bruschetta. The other seaweeds, clams, and tunicate-crusted mussels go into a separate wok with a little seawater and miso paste. Soon the tunicates slide off the shells and dissolve into an orange bisque, and suddenly we have New Haven miso soup.
As the color fades from the sky and the day’s heat radiates from the rock, we spoon out bowlfuls of soup swirling with green, brown, and red seaweeds, clacking with shells, and salted by the sea. There’s also a fair amount of the bottom of Long Island Sound in the soup, grit and tunicate grinding between our molars, but hey, this is war."
— Rowan Jacobsen takes a stand (spoon in hand) against invasive species in "The Gourmet Invasivore’s Dilemma".
River corpses are almost always police cases. Homicides and suicides. My dad was eight when the naked, bloated body of a woman surfaced near a crescent of sand north of Dyckman Pier. He’d told me this before. He and his friends were chasing each other through the crumbling asphalt at the end of Dyckman Street when they saw a police boat anchored off shore.
Sixty years later, plenty of women still float up to the Hudson’s surface like broken mermaids. Two were found along Manhattan’s tip a couple of months apart last spring, one again here at the pier. Men appear too, especially in the warmer months, when the heated water reinvigorates decomposition and gives their sunken bodies a gaseous lift. But they mostly emerge with their clothes still on."
— Lauren Dockett, "The Quiet Edge", part of an essay series on urban waterways.
IN A GARDEN
Gushing from the mouths of stone men
To spread at ease under the sky
In granite-lipped basins,
Where iris dabble their feet
And rustle to a passing wind,
The water fills the garden with its rushing,
In the midst of the quiet of close-clipped lawns.
Damp smell the ferns in tunnels of stone,
Where trickle and plash the fountains,
Marble fountains, yellowed with much water.
Splashing down moss-tarnished steps
It falls, the water;
And the air is throbbing with it;
With its gurgling and running;
With its leaping, and deep, cool murmur.
And I wished for night and you.
I wanted to see you in the swimming-pool,
White and shining in the silver-flecked water.
While the moon rode over the garden,
High in the arch of night,
And the scent of the lilacs was heavy with stillness.
Night and the water, and you in your whiteness,
From The Glebe, Vol 1, No. 5, published 1914.
Found in The Modernist Journals Project.
The 400-pound Architeuthis Dux was transported to the Maritime Museum of Cantabria where its fate remains unclear as to whether it will be put on display or dissected and studied for science.
A stern! A junk stern!
Look at that weird horizontal board coming off the transom like some kind of mutant gudgeon.
Left side of a stereograph, “Junk flotilla on the Peiho River - transporting U.S. Army stores from Tientsin to Peking, China.” Published by Underwood & Underwood in New York, c. 1901.
Source: Library of Congress
The Cake Bake Betty track stands out for me. Should I know more about them? Besides them being born for the sea, I mean.
SHIPWRECKS, LULLABIES | for sinking, swimming, drowning; kelpies, sirens, mermaids, and sailorsi. sorrows - aidan knight | ii. lighthouse - the hush sound | iii. that sea, the gambler - gregory alan isakov | iv. sea and the rhythm - iron & wine | v. seashell - seabear | vi. song of the sea - cake bake betty | vii. in our talons - bowerbirds | viii. saltwater queen - the battle of land and sea | ix. the violent blue - electric president | x. bottom of the river - john fitzgerald grimsley (instrumental cover) | xi. deep-sea - oh land