John Masefield - A Remarkable Poet.

"Let me have wisdom, Beauty, wisdom, passion,
Bread to the soul, rain when the summers parch.
Give me but these, and though the darkness close
Even the night will blossom as the rose."
John Masefield (1878-1967), British poet. On Growing Old (l. 25-28). . . Modern American & British Poetry. Louis Untermeyer, ed., in consultation with Karl Shapiro and Richard Wilbur. (Rev., shorter ed., 1955) Harcourt, Brace and Company.


 There  are times in every poetry lover's life when  sort of  'love at first sight'  hits him or her.  During the late 1960s when  I was nearly disenchanted of my life as an engineering student, for they really force your nose to the grind-mill with no leisure to do anything else,  I ran smack into the astounding poetry by Sir John Masefield, the British Poet  Laureate.  The  poetry had a magical effect on me, like encountering Ayn Rand or  Kahlil Gibran... ah, what heady days those were !

I've always had a graphic memory, and hence remembering data was not a problem, however poetry used to be a blind spot. Though I could memorize hundreds of pages of addresses and telephone numbers, I somehow could not memorize two lines of my own creation ! Thus the first couplet I memorized instantly happened to be from John Masefield, for it struck a chord deep within :

I have seen grass growing from stony places
And kind things done by men with ugly faces
And the worst horse win at the Derby races.
So, I trust too.

Thus began our lifelong relationship -on hundreds of occasions, I have used these lines very judiciously, very effectively, making poetry lovers out of very mundane people who never had any spare time for literary pursuits.

ONE road leads to London,
One road leads to Wales,
My road leads me seawards
To the white dipping sails.

One road leads to the river,
And it goes singing slow;
My road leads to shipping,
Where the bronzed sailors go.

Leads me, lures me, calls me
To salt green tossing sea;
A road without earth's road-dust
Is the right road for me.

A wet road heaving, shining,
And wild with seagull's cries,
A mad salt sea-wind blowing
The salt spray in my eyes.

My road calls me, lures me
West, east, south, and north;
Most roads lead men homewards,
My road leads me forth.

To add more miles to the tally
Of grey miles left behind,
In quest of that one beauty
God put me here to find

No one can miss the inbuilt rhythm, the foot-tapping and soul-lifting rhythm in his words. The simplicity of expression, the lyrical nature of his addresses the very mundane things we take for granted, seems simply bewitching.   

This is just an appetizer, and I am afraid much more could follow - I wish other fellow writers would try and discover the magic of Masefield...it is an undying magic, let me assure you.

Max Babi
27th Sept. 2006