In a brilliant essay in the latest issue of Poetry Magazine, entitled Beach Reading, David Orr (New York Times Book Review) explores the lure, fascination, wonder and inspiration of reading and writing at the beach. Orr quotes the British critic Gabriel Josipovici as he relates his first impressions of coming to Los Angeles:
On my first visit… I surprised my hosts—and myself—by asking to be taken down to the sea. I found that, more even than wanting to visit the streets down which Philip Marlowe had walked, or any of the city’s great museums, which my hosts were anxious to show me, I wanted to dip my hand in the Pacific... Within a very short while, of course, I could recall nothing of that moment, only my sense of myself hurrying across the sand and the feeling of disappointment that the water did not seem in any way distinctive.
Orr goes on to describe how this intangible drive to “touch the sea,” coincides with a notion of a kind of "herd" (my word) pilgrimage resulting in what he calls a shared touch. In this regard, one can imagine being plugged into the ages, drinking up the same salt air that inspired authors and poets since the dawn of human history. This link to the past may be a galvanizing force for some. Conversely, it can also extinguish quickly, in the hubbub of children playing and yelling, frisbees tossing, birds swiping food, sand in your eyes, flies in your food, mosquitoes on your skin.
So, I thought I’d give it a try. I haven’t gone to the beach yet this year with the express goal to write. I’ve gone plenty for other reasons: picnics, walking our dog, reading, sunbathing and yes, once to play frisbee. It didn't hurt that yesterday was in the upper eighties here in New England, slightly humid, and turning into one of those perfect, calm, warm evenings.
Since my wife is in Seattle, this would be a true solo pilgrimage. I packed a simple salad, some huge cherries, a couple slices sharp Cabot cheddar and about a glass and a half of a nice merlot in a Starbucks plastic cup.
I tooled over to the famous Singing Beach, just outside of Manchester by the Sea and only about twenty minutes from our house. This is a beautiful sequestered arc of about a mile and half of pure crystalline sandy beach and Atlantic seacoast, 50 miles north of Boston. It’s called Singing Beach because the sand makes little squishy high-pitched “singing sounds” as you step through it. I’m told that this is due to the type (polished silica) and size of sand particles here which are are only rarely seen on most sand beaches.
I found a spot somewhat clear of the beach activities. It was about two hours before dusk. I ate my supper, pulled out a couple of poetry books and read for about an hour, sipping the tasty wine.
I then pulled out my paper pad and started to write. I was surprised how easily things flowed. Was this the “beach effect,” or just the good merlot? I was pretty tuned in to very minute sensations around me, the swooping gulls, strange changes in lighting, a bold moon against a bright azure sky, contradictions in my own emotions, the muted wave-sounds, and my own heartbeat. I wrote and wrote, scribbling out poems as fast as I could, exing out some, circling others. By nightfall, I had the architecture for what I felt was about a half-dozen poems. I laid them to rest and picked them up early the next day; it didn’t take long to put them into some kind of order. All in all, I think it was a resounding success, my evening at Singing Beach. If you want to see some of the poems please click here.
What do you think? Are you inspired to write at the beach? Do you have other localities or favorite spots that you like to go to for writing?
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Written by Edward Nudelman, who is also a Books Correspondent for Gather: POETRY CENTRAL
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Comments: 38
Mary, you know I'm from the PacNW...! Beautiful, wild beaches in Washington, way out on the coast (Seattle and Puget Sound beaches far less secluded, obviously)
Water sounds have a compelling and nurturing effect. So much so, for me, that I installed a large pond with a waterfall, so I could hear the sound...all the time.
The water has a bonus: birds. The bird song is another soothing pleasure.
Which leads me to another wonderful and inspiring place to write: in a shady spot of my garden.
At home, I like to write in the den late at night/ early morning.
Sometimes while I'm riding my bike, lines pop into my head that I try and remember when I get home.
But the best place is aboard Wind Dancer over anchor.
But i havent been to any beach in over 9 yrs....that is just awful.
Nice article Edward.....t
I don't often get to beaches but wild places are what really make my heart sing. They don't have to be completely away from other humans but I like them to feel a little bit off the beaten track.
Now that I think of it, one of the first places I had that feeling was at Gay Head on Martha's Vineyard. So, at least in those days, it had the beach and wildness all in one.
Nicolas Cage made a movie a few years back where he plays an angel who falls in love with a mortal (Meg Ryan).
There is a scene, where at sunrise, the angels assigned to mortals gather on shore. I think the film's screenwriter and I agree that there is something so uniquely strong and free about the ocean. Gulls gliding abound, the ocean would have to be the sole place on earth from where an angel might begin a day's work.
I am home whenever I smell the sea breezed air. For it is at the ocean where I become one with Something greater than I could ever aspire to be. It is there where my spirit is totally free.
I just went to the beach for the first time this summer...ack, there's no excuse! I've been spending so much time away from the shore my heart aches for more after just one weekend on the Cape. :)