by Edgar Allan PoeIt was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me- Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we- Of many far wiser than we- And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Says the famous Spongebob Squarepants. Going to the beach, when it’s not crowded, is a fun thing to do. Everyone should try it. But you’re at a risk of getting strep throat or some sort of sickness. It happens every time, on the days when it’s not crowded (November-February). Anyways, I took these photos at Coney Island, so enjoy. I think they’re very pretty.
First steps, the city
But then you see it
No more skyscrapers
Only the blank border
Before you hear the crashing
The blue arms
Pulling and grabbing
People, small and simple
Do you still hear the cars?
Do you still see the metal giants?
Who loom above your head?
Giants of iron and steel
Then the Sun has set
Sending sparkles over the ocean
The beast’s spine
For now, the steel has won
Of the city
by Liza Garrity
The sea is like a never-ending love,
that seems to go on forever.
But the sea does eventually stop,
Just like the life a person that has no more use for a person.
I fall into a sad and dark sleep where no one may enter,
And the things you are convinced are wrong,
Suddenly appear to be the only right in this world,
a world that is filled with anger and jealousy.
As I step into the whirlpool of an unending sadness,
A pelagic sadness that grows at it yearns for a life.
The sea and I have two things in common,
We are full of surprises, even if it may not seem like it and,
We both are pelagic in one way or another.
The story behind both of us still hasn’t ended,
and the story will never end.
Pelagic took on new, transcendent meaning for me today when I read “Alma” a short story by Junot Diaz. The narrator of the story is in love with a girl but can’t resist the seductions of her best friend. When his girlfriend confirms her suspicions by peaking into his journal and then quietly confronts him, his “heart plunges, … and he is overwhelmed by a pelagic sadness.”
On Staten Island in search of pelagic experiences, Susan and I drive along Arthur Kill Road, a meandering marineside motor access leading to the Outerbridge Crossing to New Jersey. We had heard aboout a mysterious ship graveyard in the area and were intent to find it. We ask three bewildered Staten Island natives – on the street, in a diner, at a marina – where we might find this seemingly fascinating urban archeological wonder. Eventually, we find the rusty, decomposing, dinosaurs in the water next to a very active scrap metal depository, across the street from a hot pink tourist motel. These enormous, industrial carcasses jut forcefully up from the serene, yet polluted waterway of the Arthur Kill. We both stand in awe with our cameras poised and are immediately thrown off the grounds of the scrap metal yard. We are threatened with arrest and finally agree to leave the premises. Just a normal day in the production of Abecedarium NYC.
There is a French word I dearly relish for its ability to express the sensation one has when feeling outside your home, your country, yourself. The word is “depayser” and literally speaking it translates as “to be outside one’s country”, experiencing a new state of mind and body, which has certainly been a part of my year of discovery here in New York City. I am constantly reminded of my often parochial attitude toward unfamiliar territory when I allow myself to discover a new place or community here in my own town.
So once again, I am in a position of awe, this time as I stand surrounded by a giddy flock of seagulls on the City Island Waterfront at the north –eastern most tip of the Bronx. The air is, sadly enough, unseasonably warm (an expression I have come to fear). Bronx native and Abecedarium media artist George Kuchar encouraged Susan and I to drive to this far most finger of the metropolitan area in pursuit of the quintessential pelagic experience. I stare long and hard at the horizon, at the waters of the Pelham Bay, the Long Island Sound and the Eastchester Bay, utterly transported by a sensation of openness. I am here and there all at once. One of my favorite scenes in Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn occurs when Francie, the 11 year old heroine, is taken by her father to the shore to ride in a small fishing boat, smell the salt, gaze at the gulls. For the first time in her life, she has a pelagic sensation of the sea.