ROF= Ring of fire Odyssey MEF-H = Marine Expeditionary Force- Hargus
MARNE= CANadian maritimes / NE USA journey
Camden, Maine 2 #27
MARNE 11 # 27
Camden , Maine 2
Casco Bay, Penobscot Bay
June 29, 2011
Hwy US 1 en-route to Acadia.
Fog... limited visibility so let's stop and see what's here in Camden, Maine.
Having seen the Camden Maine harbor... the New England town architecture.... so unique... a powerful setting to evoke the daily trials of men going to sea... to understand the ebb and flow of life defined by the tides.... not an easy life... it produced hard men of the sea... and hard hearted women that endured this place.
Seeing the fog that envelops the coast... looking out into the grey blur.... defines the women that pray that their men will return from the mistress of the sea that calls them away. Waiting for their safe return is an eternity within a day. Life should not be so difficult.... but it is.
Life ruled by the tides is not for the faint of heart... it does produce a rich heart.
Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote "Renascence" here.
It takes a place like this... Camden, Maine to stir the heart and soul of life. Although many do, It is not for the average tourist summering on the Maine coast.
Fog summons the raw emotion of doubt.... and of courage, to be out in it.
Think of women wondering where their men / fishermen were... if they were ok. ... looking for the channel back to safe anchor,... to home.
The mountains.... Mount Battie overlooking Camden is a magnificent view of Penobscot Bay. No wonder Edna could write Renascence living here. Renascence IS here !... The Camden area. ...being here creates that state of mind. You see this place... and read her work... a powerful treasure!
I am sure that when Edna spoke of touching the sky... it was here at Mount Battie.
There is a bronze statue of Edna near the harbor falls. I would have liked to have morning coffee w/ Edna and talked while overlooking the Camden harbor.
Mount Battie was enveloped in fog in the late afternoon. A view in the fog, visibility maybe 200' is powerful. Most would say, you can't see anything; that's exactly the point. Your senses are stifeled by the helplessness to trying to see through the fog... to not know. Imagine being on the docks/ pier when your sailor / fisher makes port.
See the next post Mount Battie next morning w/ clear visibility .... ... 20+ miles It brings this state of mind into focus.
MARNE 11 # 27 Camden , Maine 2
Casco Bay, Penobscot Bay
June 29, 2011 Hwy US 1 enroute to Acadia.
Fog... limited visability so let's stop and see what's here in Camden, Maine.
Having seen the Camden Maine harbor... the New England town architechture.... so unuique... a powerful setting to envoke the daily trials of men going to sea... to understand the ebb and flow of life defined by the tides.... not an easy life... it produced hard men of the sea... and hard hearted women that endured this place.
Seeing the fog that envelops the coast... looking out into the grey blur.... defines the women that pray that their men will return from the mistress of the sea that calls them away. Waiting for their safe return is an eternity within a day. Life should not be so difficult.... but it is.
Life ruled by the tides is not for the faint of heart... it does produce a rich heart.
Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote "Renasance" here.
It takes a place like this... Camden, Maine to stir the heart and soul of life.
Although many do, It is not for the average tourist summering on the Maine coast. Fog summons the raw emotion of doubt.... and of courage, to be out in it. Think of women wondering where their men / fishermen were... if they were ok. ... looking for the channel back to safe anchor,... to home.
The mountains.... Mount Battie overlooking Camden is a magnificent view of Penobscot Bay.
No wonder Edna could write Renasence living here. Renascence IS here !... The Camden area. ...being here creates that state of mind. You see this palce... and read her work... a powerful treasure! I am sure that when Edna spoke of touching the sky... it was here at Mount Battie. There is a bronze statue of Edna near the harbor falls. I would have liked to have morning coffee w/ Edna and talked while overlooking the Camden harbor.
Mount Battie was enveloped in fog in the late afternoon. A view in the fog, visibility maybe 200' is powerful. Most would say, you can't see anything; that's exactly the point. Your senses are stifled by the helplessness to trying to see through the fog... to not know. Imagine being on the docks/ pier when your sailor / fisher makes port.
See the next post Mount Battie next morning w/ clear visibility .... ... 20+ miles It brings this state of mind into focus.
Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892–1950). Renascence
ALL I could see from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked the other way,
And saw three islands in a bay.
So with my eyes I traced the line 5
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come
Back to where I’d started from;
And all I saw from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood. 10
Over these things I could not see:
These were the things that bounded me;
And I could touch them with my hand,
Almost, I thought, from where I stand.
And all at once things seemed so small 15
My breath came short, and scarce at all.
But, sure, the sky is big, I said;
Miles and miles above my head;
So here upon my back I’ll lie
And look my fill into the sky. 20
And so I looked, and, after all,
The sky was not so very tall.
The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,
And—sure enough!—I see the top!
The sky, I thought, is not so grand; 25
I ’most could touch it with my hand!
And reaching up my hand to try,
I screamed to feel it touch the sky.
I screamed, and—lo!—Infinity
Came down and settled over me; 30
Forced back my scream into my chest,
Bent back my arm upon my breast,
And, pressing of the Undefined
The definition on my mind,
Held up before my eyes a glass 35
Through which my shrinking sight did pass
Until it seemed I must behold
Immensity made manifold;
Whispered to me a word whose sound
Deafened the air for worlds around, 40
And brought unmuffled to my ears
The gossiping of friendly spheres,
The creaking of the tented sky,
The ticking of Eternity.
I saw and heard and knew at last 45
The How and Why of all things, past,
And present, and forevermore.
The Universe, cleft to the core,
Lay open to my probing sense
That, sick’ning, I would fain pluck thence 50
But could not,—nay! But needs must suck
At the great wound, and could not pluck
My lips away till I had drawn
All venom out.—Ah, fearful pawn!
For my omniscience paid I toll 55
In infinite remorse of soul.
All sin was of my sinning, all
Atoning mine, and mine the gall
Of all regret. Mine was the weight
Of every brooded wrong, the hate 60
That stood behind each envious thrust,
Mine every greed, mine every lust.
And all the while for every grief,
Each suffering, I craved relief
With individual desire,— 65
Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire
About a thousand people crawl;
Perished with each,—then mourned for all!
A man was starving in Capri;
He moved his eyes and looked at me; 70
I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,
And knew his hunger as my own.
I saw at sea a great fog bank
Between two ships that struck and sank;
A thousand screams the heavens smote; 75
And every scream tore through my throat.
No hurt I did not feel, no death
That was not mine; mine each last breath
That, crying, met an answering cry
From the compassion that was I. 80
All suffering mine, and mine its rod;
Mine, pity like the pity of God.
Ah, awful weight! Infinity
Pressed down upon the finite Me!
My anguished spirit, like a bird, 85
Beating against my lips I heard;
Yet lay the weight so close about
There was no room for it without.
And so beneath the weight lay I
And suffered death, but could not die. 90
Long had I lain thus, craving death,
When quietly the earth beneath
Gave way, and inch by inch, so great
At last had grown the crushing weight,
Into the earth I sank till I 95
Full six feet under ground did lie,
And sank no more,—there is no weight
Can follow here, however great.
From off my breast I felt it roll,
And as it went my tortured soul 100
Burst forth and fled in such a gust
That all about me swirled the dust.
Deep in the earth I rested now;
Cool is its hand upon the brow
And soft its breast beneath the head 105
Of one who is so gladly dead.
And all at once, and over all
The pitying rain began to fall;
I lay and heard each pattering hoof
Upon my lowly, thatchèd roof, 110
And seemed to love the sound far more
Than ever I had done before.
For rain it hath a friendly sound
To one who’s six feet under ground;
And scarce the friendly voice or face: 115
A grave is such a quiet place.
The rain, I said, is kind to come
And speak to me in my new home.
I would I were alive again
To kiss the fingers of the rain, 120
To drink into my eyes the shine
Of every slanting silver line,
To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze
From drenched and dripping apple-trees.
For soon the shower will be done, 125
And then the broad face of the sun
Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth
Until the world with answering mirth
Shakes joyously, and each round drop
Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top. 130
How can I bear it; buried here,
While overhead the sky grows clear
And blue again after the storm?
O, multi-colored, multiform,
Beloved beauty over me, 135
That I shall never, never see
Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,
That I shall never more behold!
Sleeping your myriad magics through,
Close-sepulchred away from you! 140
O God, I cried, give me new birth,
And put me back upon the earth!
Upset each cloud’s gigantic gourd
And let the heavy rain, down-poured
In one big torrent, set me free, 145
Washing my grave away from me!
I ceased; and through the breathless hush
That answered me, the far-off rush
Of herald wings came whispering
Like music down the vibrant string 150
Of my ascending prayer, and—crash!
Before the wild wind’s whistling lash
The startled storm-clouds reared on high
And plunged in terror down the sky,
And the big rain in one black wave 155
Fell from the sky and struck my grave.
I know not how such things can be;
I only know there came to me
A fragrance such as never clings
To aught save happy living things; 160
A sound as of some joyous elf
Singing sweet songs to please himself,
And, through and over everything,
A sense of glad awakening.
The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear, 165
Whispering to me I could hear;
I felt the rain’s cool finger-tips
Brushed tenderly across my lips,
Laid gently on my sealèd sight,
And all at once the heavy night 170
Fell from my eyes and I could see,—
A drenched and dripping apple-tree,
A last long line of silver rain,
A sky grown clear and blue again.
And as I looked a quickening gust 175
Of wind blew up to me and thrust
Into my face a miracle
Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,—
I know not how such things can be!—
I breathed my soul back into me. 180
Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I
And hailed the earth with such a cry
As is not heard save from a man
Who has been dead, and lives again.
About the trees my arms I wound; 185
Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;
I raised my quivering arms on high;
I laughed and laughed into the sky,
Till at my throat a strangling sob
Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb 190
Sent instant tears into my eyes;
O God, I cried, no dark disguise
Can e’er hereafter hide from me
Thy radiant identity!
Thou canst not move across the grass 195
But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,
Nor speak, however silently,
But my hushed voice will answer Thee.
I know the path that tells Thy way
Through the cool eve of every day; 200
God, I can push the grass apart
And lay my finger on Thy heart!
The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky,— 205
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through. 210
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat—the sky
Will cave in on him by and by.
Casco Bay, Penobscot Bay
June 29, 2011
Hwy US 1 en-route to Acadia.
Fog... limited visibility so let's stop and see what's here in Camden, Maine.
Having seen the Camden Maine harbor... the New England town architecture.... so unique... a powerful setting to evoke the daily trials of men going to sea... to understand the ebb and flow of life defined by the tides.... not an easy life... it produced hard men of the sea... and hard hearted women that endured this place.
Seeing the fog that envelops the coast... looking out into the grey blur.... defines the women that pray that their men will return from the mistress of the sea that calls them away. Waiting for their safe return is an eternity within a day. Life should not be so difficult.... but it is.
Life ruled by the tides is not for the faint of heart... it does produce a rich heart.
Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote "Renascence" here.
It takes a place like this... Camden, Maine to stir the heart and soul of life. Although many do, It is not for the average tourist summering on the Maine coast.
Fog summons the raw emotion of doubt.... and of courage, to be out in it.
Think of women wondering where their men / fishermen were... if they were ok. ... looking for the channel back to safe anchor,... to home.
The mountains.... Mount Battie overlooking Camden is a magnificent view of Penobscot Bay. No wonder Edna could write Renascence living here. Renascence IS here !... The Camden area. ...being here creates that state of mind. You see this place... and read her work... a powerful treasure!
I am sure that when Edna spoke of touching the sky... it was here at Mount Battie.
There is a bronze statue of Edna near the harbor falls. I would have liked to have morning coffee w/ Edna and talked while overlooking the Camden harbor.
Mount Battie was enveloped in fog in the late afternoon. A view in the fog, visibility maybe 200' is powerful. Most would say, you can't see anything; that's exactly the point. Your senses are stifeled by the helplessness to trying to see through the fog... to not know. Imagine being on the docks/ pier when your sailor / fisher makes port.
See the next post Mount Battie next morning w/ clear visibility .... ... 20+ miles It brings this state of mind into focus.
MARNE 11 # 27 Camden , Maine 2
You never drink twice from the same stream.
Copyright ALL StoneBearTracks blog posts and photographs ALL Rights reserved
Casco Bay, Penobscot Bay
June 29, 2011 Hwy US 1 enroute to Acadia.
Fog... limited visability so let's stop and see what's here in Camden, Maine.
Having seen the Camden Maine harbor... the New England town architechture.... so unuique... a powerful setting to envoke the daily trials of men going to sea... to understand the ebb and flow of life defined by the tides.... not an easy life... it produced hard men of the sea... and hard hearted women that endured this place.
Seeing the fog that envelops the coast... looking out into the grey blur.... defines the women that pray that their men will return from the mistress of the sea that calls them away. Waiting for their safe return is an eternity within a day. Life should not be so difficult.... but it is.
Life ruled by the tides is not for the faint of heart... it does produce a rich heart.
Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote "Renasance" here.
It takes a place like this... Camden, Maine to stir the heart and soul of life.
Although many do, It is not for the average tourist summering on the Maine coast. Fog summons the raw emotion of doubt.... and of courage, to be out in it. Think of women wondering where their men / fishermen were... if they were ok. ... looking for the channel back to safe anchor,... to home.
The mountains.... Mount Battie overlooking Camden is a magnificent view of Penobscot Bay.
No wonder Edna could write Renasence living here. Renascence IS here !... The Camden area. ...being here creates that state of mind. You see this palce... and read her work... a powerful treasure! I am sure that when Edna spoke of touching the sky... it was here at Mount Battie. There is a bronze statue of Edna near the harbor falls. I would have liked to have morning coffee w/ Edna and talked while overlooking the Camden harbor.
Mount Battie was enveloped in fog in the late afternoon. A view in the fog, visibility maybe 200' is powerful. Most would say, you can't see anything; that's exactly the point. Your senses are stifled by the helplessness to trying to see through the fog... to not know. Imagine being on the docks/ pier when your sailor / fisher makes port.
See the next post Mount Battie next morning w/ clear visibility .... ... 20+ miles It brings this state of mind into focus.
Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892–1950). Renascence
ALL I could see from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked the other way,
And saw three islands in a bay.
So with my eyes I traced the line 5
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come
Back to where I’d started from;
And all I saw from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood. 10
Over these things I could not see:
These were the things that bounded me;
And I could touch them with my hand,
Almost, I thought, from where I stand.
And all at once things seemed so small 15
My breath came short, and scarce at all.
But, sure, the sky is big, I said;
Miles and miles above my head;
So here upon my back I’ll lie
And look my fill into the sky. 20
And so I looked, and, after all,
The sky was not so very tall.
The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,
And—sure enough!—I see the top!
The sky, I thought, is not so grand; 25
I ’most could touch it with my hand!
And reaching up my hand to try,
I screamed to feel it touch the sky.
I screamed, and—lo!—Infinity
Came down and settled over me; 30
Forced back my scream into my chest,
Bent back my arm upon my breast,
And, pressing of the Undefined
The definition on my mind,
Held up before my eyes a glass 35
Through which my shrinking sight did pass
Until it seemed I must behold
Immensity made manifold;
Whispered to me a word whose sound
Deafened the air for worlds around, 40
And brought unmuffled to my ears
The gossiping of friendly spheres,
The creaking of the tented sky,
The ticking of Eternity.
I saw and heard and knew at last 45
The How and Why of all things, past,
And present, and forevermore.
The Universe, cleft to the core,
Lay open to my probing sense
That, sick’ning, I would fain pluck thence 50
But could not,—nay! But needs must suck
At the great wound, and could not pluck
My lips away till I had drawn
All venom out.—Ah, fearful pawn!
For my omniscience paid I toll 55
In infinite remorse of soul.
All sin was of my sinning, all
Atoning mine, and mine the gall
Of all regret. Mine was the weight
Of every brooded wrong, the hate 60
That stood behind each envious thrust,
Mine every greed, mine every lust.
And all the while for every grief,
Each suffering, I craved relief
With individual desire,— 65
Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire
About a thousand people crawl;
Perished with each,—then mourned for all!
A man was starving in Capri;
He moved his eyes and looked at me; 70
I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,
And knew his hunger as my own.
I saw at sea a great fog bank
Between two ships that struck and sank;
A thousand screams the heavens smote; 75
And every scream tore through my throat.
No hurt I did not feel, no death
That was not mine; mine each last breath
That, crying, met an answering cry
From the compassion that was I. 80
All suffering mine, and mine its rod;
Mine, pity like the pity of God.
Ah, awful weight! Infinity
Pressed down upon the finite Me!
My anguished spirit, like a bird, 85
Beating against my lips I heard;
Yet lay the weight so close about
There was no room for it without.
And so beneath the weight lay I
And suffered death, but could not die. 90
Long had I lain thus, craving death,
When quietly the earth beneath
Gave way, and inch by inch, so great
At last had grown the crushing weight,
Into the earth I sank till I 95
Full six feet under ground did lie,
And sank no more,—there is no weight
Can follow here, however great.
From off my breast I felt it roll,
And as it went my tortured soul 100
Burst forth and fled in such a gust
That all about me swirled the dust.
Deep in the earth I rested now;
Cool is its hand upon the brow
And soft its breast beneath the head 105
Of one who is so gladly dead.
And all at once, and over all
The pitying rain began to fall;
I lay and heard each pattering hoof
Upon my lowly, thatchèd roof, 110
And seemed to love the sound far more
Than ever I had done before.
For rain it hath a friendly sound
To one who’s six feet under ground;
And scarce the friendly voice or face: 115
A grave is such a quiet place.
The rain, I said, is kind to come
And speak to me in my new home.
I would I were alive again
To kiss the fingers of the rain, 120
To drink into my eyes the shine
Of every slanting silver line,
To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze
From drenched and dripping apple-trees.
For soon the shower will be done, 125
And then the broad face of the sun
Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth
Until the world with answering mirth
Shakes joyously, and each round drop
Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top. 130
How can I bear it; buried here,
While overhead the sky grows clear
And blue again after the storm?
O, multi-colored, multiform,
Beloved beauty over me, 135
That I shall never, never see
Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,
That I shall never more behold!
Sleeping your myriad magics through,
Close-sepulchred away from you! 140
O God, I cried, give me new birth,
And put me back upon the earth!
Upset each cloud’s gigantic gourd
And let the heavy rain, down-poured
In one big torrent, set me free, 145
Washing my grave away from me!
I ceased; and through the breathless hush
That answered me, the far-off rush
Of herald wings came whispering
Like music down the vibrant string 150
Of my ascending prayer, and—crash!
Before the wild wind’s whistling lash
The startled storm-clouds reared on high
And plunged in terror down the sky,
And the big rain in one black wave 155
Fell from the sky and struck my grave.
I know not how such things can be;
I only know there came to me
A fragrance such as never clings
To aught save happy living things; 160
A sound as of some joyous elf
Singing sweet songs to please himself,
And, through and over everything,
A sense of glad awakening.
The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear, 165
Whispering to me I could hear;
I felt the rain’s cool finger-tips
Brushed tenderly across my lips,
Laid gently on my sealèd sight,
And all at once the heavy night 170
Fell from my eyes and I could see,—
A drenched and dripping apple-tree,
A last long line of silver rain,
A sky grown clear and blue again.
And as I looked a quickening gust 175
Of wind blew up to me and thrust
Into my face a miracle
Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,—
I know not how such things can be!—
I breathed my soul back into me. 180
Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I
And hailed the earth with such a cry
As is not heard save from a man
Who has been dead, and lives again.
About the trees my arms I wound; 185
Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;
I raised my quivering arms on high;
I laughed and laughed into the sky,
Till at my throat a strangling sob
Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb 190
Sent instant tears into my eyes;
O God, I cried, no dark disguise
Can e’er hereafter hide from me
Thy radiant identity!
Thou canst not move across the grass 195
But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,
Nor speak, however silently,
But my hushed voice will answer Thee.
I know the path that tells Thy way
Through the cool eve of every day; 200
God, I can push the grass apart
And lay my finger on Thy heart!
The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky,— 205
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through. 210
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat—the sky
Will cave in on him by and by.
You never drink twice from the same stream.
You never drink twice from the same stream.
Just because you wander doesn't mean you're lost.
Uncle Hargus: Last of the Independents
Have Bear,
Will Travel
StoneBearTracks Copyright Uncle Hargus MCMLXIII ALL blog posts/photographs/video ALL Rights reserved
ALL Blog posts/photographs/video Copyright MCMLXIII ALL Rights Reserved
