ships

• poet laureate'lerin en büyüklerinden john masefield'e ait; okuyanın gırtlağına kocaman bir yumruyu oturtan şiir, başyapıt. ömrünü yegane sevgilisi denize övgüler sunmakla geçiren masefield yaşamının son yıllarında yazdığı bu başyapıtında (bence) insanoğlunun yabancılaşma sürecinde vardığı son noktayı eleştirmiştir. bunu yaparken de otomasyon ve seri üretim ile tektipleşen dünyaya kurban giden, zaman paradır şiarına kayıtsız şartsız biat neticesi konserve kutusu mu uçan tabut mu ne idüğü belirsiz uçan makinaların katlettiği her biri ayrı bir kişilik olan gemiler için adeta ölmüş tüm eski dostlarını yadeder bir üslup kullanmakta, okuyanın içine tarifsiz bir hüzün doldurmakta. buyrunuz eser metni:
  
  i cannot tell their wonder nor make known
  magic that once thrilled through me to the bone;
  but all men praise some beauty, tell some tale,
  vent a high mood which makes the rest seem pale,
  pour their heart's blood to flourish one green leaf,
  follow some helen for her gift of grief,
  and fail in what they mean, whate'er they do:
  you should have seen, man cannot tell to you
  the beauty of the ships of that my city.
  
  that beauty now is spoiled by the sea's pity;
  for one may haunt the pier a score of times,
  hearing st. nicholas bells ring out the chimes,
  yet never see those proud ones swaying home
  with mainyards backed and bows a cream of foam,
  those bows so lovely-curving, cut so fine,
  those coulters of the many-bubbled brine,
  as once, long since, when all the docks were filled
  with that sea-beauty man has ceased to build.
  
  yet, though their splendor may have ceased to be
  each played her sovereign part in making me;
  now i return my thanks with heart and lips
  for the great queenliness of all those ships.
  
  and first the first bright memory, still so clear,
  an autumn evening in a golden year,
  when in the last lit moments before dark
  the "chepica", a steel-gray lovely barque,
  came to an anchor near us on the flood,
  her trucks aloft in sun-glow red as blood.
  
  then come so many ships that i could fill
  three docks with their fair hulls remembered still,
  each with her special memory's special grace,
  riding the sea, making the waves give place
  to delicate high beauty; man's best strength,
  noble in every line in all their length.
  "ailsa", "genista", ships, with long jibbooms,
  the "wanderer" with great beauty and strange dooms,
  "liverpool" (mightiest then) superb, sublime,
  the "california" huge, as slow as time.
  the "copley" swift, the perfect "j. t. north",
  the loveliest barque my city has sent forth,
  dainty "john lockell" well remembered yet,
  the splendid "argus" with her skysail set,
  stalwart "drumcliff", white-blocked, majestic "sierras",
  divine bright ships, the water's standard-bearers;
  "melpomene", "euphrosyne", and their sweet
  sea-troubling sisters of the fernie fleet;
  "corunna" (in whom my friend died) and the old
  long since loved "esmeralda" long since sold.
  "centurion" passed in rio, "glaucus" spoken,
  "aladdin" burnt, the "bidston" water-broken,
  "yola", in whom my friend sailed, dawpool trim,
  fierce-bowed "egeria" plunging to the swim,
  "stanmore" wide-sterned, sweet "cupica", tall "bard",
  queen in all harbors with her moon-sail yard.
  
  though i tell many, there must still be others,
  mcvickar marshall's ships and fernie brothers',
  lochs, counties, shires, drums, the countless lines
  whose house-flags all were once familiar signs
  at high main-trucks on mersey's windy ways
  when sunlight made the wind-white water blaze.
  their names bring back old mornings, when the docks
  shone with their house-flags and their painted blocks,
  their raking masts below the custom house
  and all the marvellous beauty of their bows.
  
  familiar steamers, too, majestic steamers,
  shearing atlantic roller-tops to streamers,
  "umbria", "etruria", noble, still at sea,
  the grandest, then, that man had brought to be.
  "majestic", "city of paris", "city of rome",
  forever jealous racers, out and home.
  
  the "alfred holt"'s blue smoke-stacks down the stream,
  the fair "loanda" with her bows a-cream.
  booth liners, anchor liners, red star liners,
  the marks and styles of countless ship-designers,
  the "magdalena", "puno", "potosi",
  lost "cotopaxi", all well known to me.
  
  these splendid ships, each with her grace, her glory,
  her memory of old song or comrade's story,
  still in my mind the image of life's need,
  beauty in hardest action, beauty indeed.
  "they built great ships and sailed them," sounds most brave,
  whatever arts we have or fail to have.
  i touch my country's mind, i come to grips
  with half her purpose, thinking of these ships:
  that art untouched by softness, all that line
  drawn ringing hard to stand the test of brine;
  that nobleness and grandeur, all that beauty
  born of a manly life and bitter duty;
  that splendor of fine bows which yet could stand
  the shock of rollers never checked by land; 90
  that art of masts, sail-crowded, fit to break,
  yet stayed to strength and backstayed into rake;
  the life demanded by that art, the keen
  eye-puckered, hard-case seamen, silent, lean.
  they are grander things than all the art of towns;
  their tests are tempests and the sea that drowns.
  they are my country's line, her great art done
  by strong brains laboring on the thought unwon.
  they mark our passage as a race of men--
  earth will not see such ships as those again.
  
  bir de gereksiz bilgi olarak: şiirin son iki mısrası cutty sark müzesinde bir tablete kazılı halde geminin hemen yanında yer almaktadır.
• ülkemizde pek taninmayan amerikali alternatif rock grubu umbrellasin süpersonik şarkısı.
  
  just like ships, we float through each other's lives
  through the waters of beauty and grace
  we will one day dock at the same port
  and give rest to our weary legs
  there is a light placed up in the sky
  like the stained glass, time slows down
  i wish i could sleep, i wish i could dream
  i love the sound of my feet against these empty streets
  i saw the whole town burn down
  i'm walking away
  nothing stays, these feelings have wings
  our arms outstretched, we are soaring