Re oceanic appetite, Max, I recall surfers longed for tucker as well as their watery rides. Pizzas and fastfood aplenty got wolfed. I had the hair for it in my teens and enjoyed the company. But I lacked the skills. Remember an ad in a surf rag, the name of which I have forgotten: Surfboard. $5 . Look good on car. Bells Beach was truly scary.
On 29/08/2012, at 3:21 PM, Max Richards wrote:
> Surf, Ocean
>
>
> That much-touted oceanic feeling -
> how available, you said, how rare
> the well-and-truly-met 'I and thou'.
>
> The surf that day at Torquay, Vic.,
> rolled mightily in and in
> all the time we lingered;
>
> the wide bay opened
> to a wider horizon
> facing all of Bass Strait;
>
> displaying three weathers -
> two dark storms on the move,
> one bright interval of sun.
>
> Our earth and turf lookout
> encompassed many surfers, tiny
> against magniloquent rollers;
>
> pitting their black-suited glistening
> physiques crouching, standing
> against surging whitening greens;
>
> triumphing for high prolonged
> moments until engulfment;
> boards surfacing again
>
> not far from the swimmers,
> soon up again, paddling back out
> for more - oceanic appetite.
>
> Strenuous pastime! The thrills
> surely addictive, single selves
> in the multitudinousness,
>
> yet to these old eyes
> remote, otherworldly.
> The grand menacing breakers
>
> resonate thunderously.
> Other days, windless, is there no
> big surf? No throng of seekers?
>
> Away from the beach, or there
> and facing each other, whose meetings
> prompt the feeling 'well met!'?
>
>
|