After the Sea-Ship

Listen to:

After the Sea-Ship (1:24)

by Walt Whitman 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

  After the sea-ship, after the whistling winds,

  After the white-gray sails taut to their spars and ropes,

  Below, a myriad myriad waves hastening, lifting up their necks,

  Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship,

  Waves of the ocean bubbling and gurgling, blithely prying,

  Waves, undulating waves, liquid, uneven, emulous waves,

  Toward that whirling current, laughing and buoyant, with curves,

  Where the great vessel sailing and tacking displaced the surface,

  Larger and smaller waves in the spread of the ocean yearnfully flowing,

  The wake of the sea-ship after she passes, flashing and frolicsome

      under the sun,

  A motley procession with many a fleck of foam and many fragments,

  Following the stately and rapid ship, in the wake following.

Be Drunken

Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh

Listen to:

Be Drunken (1:26)

by Charles Baudelaire 

translated by Arthur Symons

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Be always drunken. Nothing else matters: that is the only question. If you would not feel the horrible burden of Time weighing on your shoulders and crushing you to the earth, be drunken continually.

Drunken with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will. But be drunken.

And if sometimes, on the stairs of a palace, or on the green side of a ditch, or in the dreary solitude of your own room, you should awaken and the drunkenness be half or wholly slipped away from you, ask of the wind, or of the wave, or of the star, or of the bird, or of the clock, of whatever flies, or sighs, or rocks, or sings, or speaks, ask what hour it is; and the wind, wave, star, bird, clock, will answer you: "It is the hour to be drunken!" 

Be drunken, if you would not be martyred slaves of Time; be drunken continually! With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will.

A Sailor’s Rhyme

Listen to:

A Sailor’s Rhyme (:56)

by Robert Louis Stevenson 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

The wind blew shrill and smart,
And the wind awoke my heart
Again to go a-sailing o'er the sea,
To hear the cordage moan
And the straining timbers groan,
And to see the flying pennon lie a-lee.

O sailor of the fleet,
It is time to stir the feet!
It's time to man the dingy and to row!
It's lay your hand in mine
And it's empty down the wine,
And it's drain a health to death before we go!

To death, my lads, we sail;
And it's death that blows the gale
And death that holds the tiller as we ride.
For he's the king of all
In the tempest and the squall,
And the ruler of the Ocean wild and wide!

March

Listen to:

March (:38)

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

In ancient Rome, March was the first month of the year until Numa, second king of Rome, changed the beginning of the year to January around 700 B. C.

I Martius am! Once first, and now the third!
To lead the Year was my appointed place;
A mortal dispossessed me by a word,
And set there Janus with the double face.
Hence I make war on all the human race;
I shake the cities with my hurricanes;
I flood the rivers and their banks efface,
And drown the farms and hamlets with my rains.

from The Poet's Calendar