TheBanyanTree: Masefield, ignored

[Mike Pingleton]

We're far from any coast here, days from any ocean or sea, but I should
think someone would be interested in _Salt-Water Poems and Ballads_.

John Masefield was a favorite poet of mine in high school, so I was
delighted to run across Salt-Water Poems in the stacks at the Urbana
Library.  Sitting on the back deck today, with the last of the tea from
breakfast, I opened it to read and noticed the due date slip inside the
cover.  The last person checking out this book did so on November 6, 1991.

I got to thinking about this - the library system here serves well over a
hundred thousand people.  Not one of those people, in the past twelve
years, ever felt the need for some Salt-Water Poems and/or Ballads?  None
of the thousands who trudge up and down the dim stacks each year spied this
slim green volume and thought to give it a go?  Poetry-hating landlubbers,
one and all?

You've probably read some Masefield along the way - remember Sea-Fever?  "I
must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, and all I
ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by..."  No? Oh well.  John
Masefield also wrote poems about things other than the sea, and was a
playwright, novelist and lecturer as well.  He was England's Poet Laureate
from 1930 to 1967 - you're sure you never heard of him?

It gets worse, at least for me.  Search for Masefield on Amazon.com and
most of his listed works are out of print.  I suppose I'll tap into the
University Library system and see what they have.

Do me a favor.  If you happen to run across a dusty volume by the old Poet
Laureate in your local library, or at a used book store, open it up and
read a poem or two.  Poets really die when nobody reads their poems any more.

	Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
	Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
	With a cargo of ivory,
	And apes and peacocks,
	Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

	Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
	Dipping through the Tropics by the palmgreen shores,
	With a cargo of diamonds,
	Emeralds, amethysts,
	Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

	Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
	Butting though the Channel in the mad March days,
	With a cargo of Tyne coal,
	Road-rails, pig-lead,
	Firewood, iron-ware and cheap tin trays.

	- Cargoes, by John Masefield