"A Medium in Which I Seek Relief": Manuscripts of American Sailors 1919-1940Main MenuIntroductionPublication IntroductionTranscriptionsThe SailorsBeginning of PathThe ShipsBeginning of PathContext & AnalysisBeginning of PathSources / CitationsBeginning of PathAnnie Tummino3ab49bb2dc491ebce8f162f5757538b6789c8434
Cecil Northrop "Me" Poem and Preface
1media/CecilNorthropMe003_thumb.jpg2020-03-12T19:02:14-07:00Annie Tummino3ab49bb2dc491ebce8f162f5757538b6789c8434331953Poem styled after Kipling's "The Vampire". The Preface explains Northrop's reasons for keeping the journal.plain2020-03-13T15:30:40-07:00SUNY Maritime Archives, Cecil Northrop Papers, https://maritimedigitalcollections.com/Detail/objects/60991923Cecil NorthropIn the public domain in the United States (life of the author + 70 years).Annie Tummino3ab49bb2dc491ebce8f162f5757538b6789c8434
This page is referenced by:
12019-03-16T15:08:48-07:00Cecil Northrop "Me" Poem and Preface, 192332Transcriptionplain2021-08-26T11:42:34-07:00Poem and preface at the beginning of Cecil Northrop's 1923-1924 diary. The poem is a clever takeoff on Rudyard Kipling's "The Vampire." Instead of a woman making a fool of the man, it's the sea.
Transcription of Poem
A fool there was and he went to sea, Even as you and I, The poets they called it brave and free But only a fool will follow the sea Even as you and I.
A fool there was and his life was spent In a vile hole that was never meant For a thing God his image lent, But we go to sea by our own consent For only a fool knows a fool’s content Ever as you and I
Oh! The love we’ve lost and the joy we’ve lost And the delights of the home we planned Are worn by the man who stayed at home Who had brains and sense, And a whole lot more of things we don’t quite understand Even as you and I
A fool there was and he lost his stride And all he owns is his foolish hide Which is carefully fleeced then flung aside To sink or float on the deep sea tide Where some of him lived but most of him lied Even as you and I.
Transcription of Preface
These notes are not written through the motive of conceit, imagining that my life is more interesting than thousands nay, millions of others which have gone before. There is no attempt at style or literary effort. There may be no continuity, or order. It is merely a medium in which I seek relief. A harbor for these knocks life gives, a thanksgiving for life‘s pleasures. A means of relieving that desire to confide. A confessor for those thoughts which must come to all mortals, and which even to your dearest friend you dare not give utterance. If in the years to come when life’s battles (I should say struggle for in the word battle there lies a fairness) have long ceased to send the blood pounding to my brain, I can look through this book and see that I have profited by experience, I will feel that the hours spent in the confessional of these covers has not been wasted. At any event every word every line is sincere. They are my thoughts good or bad.
Belfast Ireland January 7, 1923
Credits
Thanks to Johnathan Thayer and Stefan Dreisbach-Williams for their help with these transcriptions.