Sea Kayaking

 

double tongued sea tasting                                                  gluttonously dripping

silent smooth glazed                                                              sea jelly glide

tannin-tea lunatic weed                                                        slaps slurps sucks

strips locks knots                                                                   in grooves and rock clefts

hissing shingle as I beach                                                     unpin taut legs reach

steps to headland                                                                    gaze look see

sea above                                                                                   sea below…

what changes?

flat hard glassy                                                                      glittered ship-pocked plain

punched arthritic knuckles                                                   land grab sky

down                                                                                         oyster sharp

winkle smooth                                                                        stone litter

astride afloat again                                                                 drawn by  tidal thread

blind moon bound                                                                    on puckered peacock sea

an orange fleck                                                                          gannets gawp

gulls guffaw                                                                                sea shudders

I slide from earth crust                            out                           to felt thread

back tight going nowhere                                                        til I check land

see I’ve moved                                                                           self powered I thought

now fragile                                                                                 I let go

sea syrup sweetens my soul

beneath-sea wind                                                                   wafts weed and me

sky currents whisper                                                              in an oyster’s ear

I am centre circle                                                                     noon mid-tide

grounded in glutinous water                                                 it lets me flow over

could with one arthritic punch                                             one long held breath

one swell of chest                                                                     knock me out

send me weed bound                                                                 down to sirens

sensed in sea deep bones

 

 

copyright Christine Cooke

April 2016

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Still Moving at Kaiteriteri

24-march-3-looking-back-at-kateriteriI can’t see too far outside today.

Beyond my rain-lace window a bay smiles as a golden sandy arm embraces it, sea calm as a blue egg.  A still sky shimmers a few blue tones lighter.   And all framed in slopes of soft-shaped rocks and green islands.

It is quiet.  It is tranquil.  Now, I need to be still.  To travel inside where waves of emotion surge and crash.  I don’t know why.  Why, suddenly, are tears burning my eyelids?

I am tired, I know, over-awed by so many landscapes in such short time.

I gaze in bliss at tissue-paper rain-haze, at peaceful sea undisturbed.  Today, I can’t see too far outside.

Yesterday, we travelled far.

22-march-4-pancake-rocksFrom Hokitika on the wild, stormy-wet, west coast through failed gold towns, old coal mines, up and up along the fierce ocean edge of South Island.

Into sunshine, blue sky, and new rock.  Leaving fault-line gorges, pounded black volcanic beaches, grey stones and pounama – greenstone jade –  for sandstone and limestone.  For warm tones, blowholes and pancaked rocks giving in to sea’s carving.  Swell crashes and shatters, roars, hisses, roams rocks, claws clefts.  Pummels, punches, grinds.  And this without a wind to urge.

Now as we turn inland, softer outlines, familiar shapes.  Wide river valleys, clear shallow water, lichen and river weed as rain forest thins and the last palms bless us.  Rounded hills, no sharp angles or volcanic triangles.  No old sea beds forced to surface as strata, hillsides quaked to rubble.  Rivers unscarred by glacial chaos.

And this morning, driving down a broadening pastoral valley, through sheep and cattle to orchards, vines and veg plots, into raspberry and blueberry canes, kiwi and hop vines, nectarines, peaches, plums, with lemon trees signing ripeness in citrine gems.  Small farms, smaller fields.  No logging.  A town and through, a coastal wiggle and here we are.  In gentle land.

As we park by the sea John exclaims, ‘Look.  No waves.  Not one wave.  No breakers.  It’s just so still.’

And I am overwhelmed.  I had not thought the violence of the landscape had so affected me.

Snarling breakers, rock chewing, tree-limb spewing, ship-wrecking, rip-tiding, silt-shifting.

Constant cloudburst, raindrops beating, drumming, drenching, flooding, hill slicing, boulder shoving, cascade-scissoring.

The land itself, plate grinding, heat venting, strata skewing, lava lumping, shivering, shaking, shattering, quaking.  Unbalanced and unbalancing.

I sit here, now, level.  Withstanding nothing.

Is my response to landscape so strong?  Or is it baggage travelling with me that rattles?

I have felt over-awed, yes.  Yet, I have felt.  Down to my own molten core.

17-march-9-aoraki-and-the-hooker-glacierThis land has challenged me to regain fitness and balance.  A six mile hike in hot sun and cooled air through the Hooker Valley towards Mt Cook Aoraki.  Watching a glacier calve in sacrifice at Aoraki-Cloud Piercer’s base.  Six weeks ago I couldn’t have done that.  Four months ago I couldn’t balance to walk.  Concussion.  In German, it’s  ‘Gehirnerschuetterung’,  brain shattering.

Hot, soft, lava brain.  Cold, hard, rocky skull.

Perhaps that’s why my strong response.  A landscape of concussion is what I see in South Island.  A landscape of shaking, shattering, shuddering, tremors, surges, falls, slips, crashes.  Land out of balance.  A land of creation and erasure.

Perhaps that’s why the level grey haze of sky and the duck-egg sheet of sea, the gentle arm of golden sand stir me.

A new flag from nature, striped with three balanced even bands, marking my pilgrimage through unstable mind and land.

I can’t see too far outside today.  And inside?  I see a long, bright future clearly…