IFOAM's Growing Organic Web Pages (www.ifoam.org/organic) Information and Resources for Developing Sustainable Agriculture

Growing Organic www.ifoam.org/growingorganic


I have been working for the past eight months on this exciting project for the International Federation of Organic Agriculture Movements Head Office in Bonn, Germany. This has been an incredibly educational and grounding experience. The work is now essentially complete and I am now working on promoting it. Please help me get the word out, have a look and see if the work applies to you and where you feel it might best be promoted.

The web pages I built are a source of information for developing organic sectors of all kinds, even growing organic food and composting in the backyard. They represent the cumulative knowledge and experience of IFOAM, the umbrella organization for Organic Agriculture, and are a community resource designed to represent and serve global Organic movements. I like to think of them as a kind of Organic Wikipedia.



These web pages provide comprehensive information for everyone from grassroots organizers engaged in advocacy to trainers and smallholders (Training Platform www.ifoam.org/training). They are also full of recommendations and options for the successful growth through networking, strategic relations, and partnerships.

Searching these pages you can learn more about the history of Organic Agriculture, lessons learned through case studies and research from all around the world, and specifics on how to produce and promote Organic Agriculture. Here you will also find information on the whole process of developing organic sectors, from policy making to market development (www.ifoam.org/markets).

These pages address common criticisms/ misconceptions, and offer arguments in favor of Organic Agriculture through the publications and works of IFOAM and Global Organic Movements.

I hope you like it.

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Here is a regularly updated list of other things Cory writes

Al Gore and the Purpose-Driven Web

In a recent speech in San Francisco Al Gore pointed out the elephant in the living room once more. “Now is the time to really move swiftly" he said, urging internet companies to use the web as a tool for positive change. The purpose of the internet has to be transformed for doing good:

“The purpose, I would urge all of you — as many of you as are willing to take it up — is to bring about a higher level of consciousness about our planet and the imminent danger and opportunity we face because of the radical transformation in the relationship between human beings and the Earth,” (read the New York Times Article)

He shows us how this can be done in his Taking 'An Inconvenient Truth' To Congress website and the WE can Solve It campaign.

“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.” 

― William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell

Promoting Organic Agriculture

Organic Agriculture deserving of a fresh look by governments and 'development' specialists and decision makers. - We should all help and find time to do more work linking the benefits of local and organic to other environmental causes. - Organic is being criticized because aspects of it have occasionally been taken up by large corporations with a single bottom line ethics, as a money making scheme. Granted organic CAFOs and intensive chicken factories, as well as shipping Organic foods to far away places, are also unsustainable practices and do not exactly meet with the IFOAM Principles or Organic Agriculture but they are still much, much, much better than their conventional counterparts.

The Environmental Benefits of Organic Agriculture are astounding.

Organic deserves recognition as an important way to help mitigate climate change!



Here is a poem by W.D. Ehrhart 'The Farmer' that feels appropriate for the topic.

Each day I go into the fields

to see what is growing

and what remains to be done.

It is always the same thing: nothing

is growing, everything needs to be done.

Plow, harrow, disc, water, pray

till my bones ache and hands rub

blood-raw with honest labor—

all that grows is the slow

intransigent intensity of need.

I have sown my seed on soil

guaranteed by poverty to fail.

But I don’t complain—except

to passersby who ask me why

I work such barren earth.

They would not understand me

if I stooped to lift a rock

and hold it like a child, or laughed,

or told them it is their poverty

I labor to relieve. For them,

I complain. A farmer of dreams

knows how to pretend. A farmer of dreams

knows what it means to be patient.

Each day I go into the fields.

Small is Beautiful; How Local Organic Can Steer Us Away from Catastrophe

By Cory Whitney (First Published in Ecology and Farming Issue 43)

CNN announced in May that Wal-Mart, now the world's largest corporation, has also become the largest retailer of organic milk. There was a time when organic farmers and producers wouldn't have expected their products to end up in a big box store, now even the largest food markets have organic sections. These sales boosts represent both successes and failures for organic. The success is that more farm land is being managed organically. The benefits to the watershed, the farmers, and all the immediately associated biotic and social communities are immeasurable. The failure is that intensified production and increased food-miles have negative effects on these same communities. Large retailers selling organic products may be undermining the high ideals that got the Organic Movement where it is today.
There is a guilty pleasure that comes with eating fresh fruits and vegetables year round. Ripe bananas and strawberries can be purchased when snow is still on the ground - lush greens and melons in the middle of a dry season. The problem is that those organic goods go through a lot to get to us, and it is a system of distribution that does not echo the standards and original ideals of organic agriculture. The greens for our organic salads are trucked from a farm to a processor, who packages and ships that produce to a distributor, who then sends the produce to other distributors or to market. The still perky, fresh greens meet us at the opposite end of a long food supply chain that covers many thousands of miles. The associated biotic and social communities for this 'beyond production' impact are easy to overlook, the distribution process is designed to be invisible.
There is no doubt; organic is the way to grow. The benefits of supporting organic agriculture outweigh the negative aspects of shipping in many cases. The positive environmental impacts of ecological farming practices are the impetus of the organic farmers and consumers. The organic farm consumes nearly no fossil fuel, yet it has the potential to produce food at nearly the same rate as an industrial farm while maintaining a diversity of crops. It is not only better for the farmers, the farm life, and consumers; it mitigates global climate change. Organic agriculture minimizes the release of greenhouse gasses. It does not use nitrogen fertilizers; therefore no nitrous oxide is released into the atmosphere. It does not use pesticides and therefore supports biodiversity. By composting and crop and animal grazing rotations organic contributes to further reductions in the releases of significant greenhouse gasses. Carbon sequestration takes place in the thick, healthy soil and surrounding biotic life. Organic agriculture actively improves the health of ecosystems beyond the farm by encouraging agro-forestry and forbidding the clearance of primary eco-systems.
Buying our food is an opportunity to ‘vote’ for the practices which we most agree with. This vote that we make with our investment in sustainable production can outweigh the impact of transportation. Even when accounting for the long distances that the products have to travel we may still effect positive change through our purchases. When Europeans choose to buy organic cotton from cooperative producers in India rather than conventional genetically modified cotton from a closer source they make a statement with their purchase. They pledge a vote for biodiversity, seed diversity, for the inherent community health of traditional organic farming rather than modern industrial methods, and for the livelihoods of hard working, environmentally conscientious people.
Buying organic and local is consistent with the moral standards of the organic movement. Among the many benefits of this choice is the decrease in food-miles. The shorter the supply chains the greater the profits for the farmer. Small farms with sales within the district they are grown are more economically viable and ecologically sustainable. With a strong emphasis on local food production economies can rely less on imports for sustenance.

There is a problematic blurring taking place today. The (altruistic) organic, and the (economic) industrial ideals are blended together in marketing models around the world. The unfortunate trend, now well established in the United States and catching on globally, is for demand at supermarket level to change the way food is grown. Markets with sales as large as Wal-Mart and McDonald's cannot do business with small producers. Even the smallest dairy operation demands thousands of gallons of milk per day from a farmer in order to justify a relationship with a supplier. Because of this market demand and consequent strain on the producer, the shift in production from small to industrial becomes inevitable. Having no options but to 'go big or go home' small farms around the world are disappearing.
Among the many victims in this system is the word 'organic' itself. In places, like California, with large industrial operations 'organic' has taken on a different, even slightly ominous meaning. Food is produced in California's rural central valley at a super-industrial level and then shipped to distribution centers all over the US. This kind of organic production on an industrial scale, with shipping long distances after production seems to miss the 'big idea'.
In the interest of making informed shopping votes we must ask fundamental questions about our food. This requires initiative on our part to be sure we understand the costs and benefits of different foods available at the local market.
We should ask ourselves these basic questions each time we walk down the produce aisle, through the bazaar, around the farmers market, or into the deli: Where did this food come from? (A few hundred miles of shipping must be weighed against the production methods and practices. A shorter supply chain usually equates to a smaller carbon footprint.) How much was it processed? (Stewing, grinding, baking and fermenting are all secondary processes which require another level of infrastructure, transportation, and storage for the food.) How is it packaged? (Much of the packaging is unnecessary and can negate the benefits of eating organic.) If we take these into account, and actively research our food sources, we will make substantial changes in our individual and communal ecological impacts.
Choosing local organic produce is voting for fair practices and standards for our whole Earth community. Organic agriculture's decreased use of fossil fuels and lack of fertilizers and pesticides all lead to a system that is helping to change the relationship between people and their natural environments. Choosing local foods further reduces ecological impacts by decreasing the transportation costs. Everyone has an important role to play in realizing this critical transformation. Governments should be supporting local and sustainable practices, encouraging and rewarding small scale transformation from conventional to organic. Donor and development agencies should have organic agriculture programs based on outreach, awareness, and best practices, especially in ecologically sensitive regions. More funding should be invested in research to improve existing farming and local marketing techniques. Farmers should grow organic for their communities rather than for large suppliers. Finally, and most importantly, we consumers should be choosing locally grown organic food.

The world's longest walk

I just learned about the world's longest walk. The trail goes from Cape Town in South Africa all the way to Magadan in far eastern Russia. Turns out that this hike can be done without taking any ferries, just a walk all the way. Seems incredible to me but my European friends are not so surprised. Something about the geography lessons of the common US education system left me with somewhat of a lack in terms of how I think the world is divided and what is possible and how the land masses are separated. I figured that at least there would be roadless areas through the Himalaya, or that the crossing from Africa would require a ship.

According to the mapping softward that delivers this trail, it is a 22.387 kilometer, that's about 14,000 miles or 5 and a half times across the US from Maine to California. The trail crosses at least 17 countries and six time zones.

Here is a poem by Mary Oliver called 'How I go to the woods' from her book Swan: Poems and Prose Poems

Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable. I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours. Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing. If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.”

Here is a regularly updated list of other things Cory writes

From student to schooner bum

Credit: Sam (also cropped the mast)

I am now serving as third mate and helping to run the shipboard education program of the New York Harbor School on an old wooden schooner called the Lettie G. Howard. 

The ship was built for fishing cod way back in the day, 1893 in Essex, Massachusetts. Technically she is a 'Fredonia schooner'. It is a perfect platform for sail training and experiential leadership training. 

Credit: Steve (cropped the masts)

I was not sure what to do after graduating from COA. As one graduate student put it 'it is kind of like jumping off a cliff'. A whole ocean of opportunities after graduation but also a lot of uncertainty and quite a lot of 'lack'. That is to say, I no longer can say 'I am a student' and have that seemingly solid 'raison detre' for filling the hole normally filled with existential lack. 

It seems life at sea suits me, I liked teaching at HIOBS and this is similar in some ways (we are even expecting some Outward Bound teachers this summer). 

Also, Lettie has been refurbished and fixed so many times that she is a perfect representation of the metaphysics of identity 'ship of Theseus'. Maybe a life as a student is my former keel, now I am hauled out and getting a new keel laid, this one of 'Mariner'. 

Here is a poem (well technically a ballad) by Samuel Taylor Coleridge called 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner', written in 1909. 

ARGUMENT.

How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by Storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country.

I.

It is an ancyent Marinere,

And he stoppeth one of three:

"By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye

"Now wherefore stoppest me?

"The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide

"And I am next of kin;

"The Guests are met, the Feast is set,—

"May'st hear the merry din.

But still he holds the wedding-guest—

There was a Ship, quoth he—

"Nay, if thou'st got a laughsome tale,

"Marinere! come with me."

He holds him with his skinny hand,

Quoth he, there was a Ship—

"Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon!

"Or my Staff shall make thee skip.

He holds him with his glittering eye—

The wedding guest stood still

And listens like a three year's child;

The Marinere hath his will.

The wedding-guest sate on a stone,

He cannot chuse but hear:

And thus spake on that ancyent man.

The bright-eyed Marinere.

The Ship was cheer'd, the Harbour clear'd—

Merrily did we drop

Below the Kirk, below the Hill,

Below the Light-house top.

The Sun came up upon the left,

Out of the Sea came he:

And he shone bright, and on the right

Went down into the Sea.

Higher and higher every day,

Till over the mast at noon—

The wedding-guest here beat his breast,

For he heard the loud bassoon.

The Bride hath pac'd into the Hall,

Red as a rose is she;

Nodding their heads before her goes

The merry Minstralsy.

The wedding-guest he beat his breast,

Yet he cannot chuse but hear:

And thus spake on that ancyent Man,

The bright-eyed Marinere.

Listen, Stranger! Storm and Wind,

A Wind and Tempest strong!

For days and weeks it play'd us freaks—

Like Chaff we drove along.

Listen, Stranger! Mist and Snow,

And it grew wond'rous cauld:

And Ice mast-high came floating by

As green as Emerauld.

And thro' the drifts the snowy clifts

Did send a dismal sheen;

Ne shapes of men ne beasts we ken—

The Ice was all between.

The Ice was here, the Ice was there,

The Ice was all around:

It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd—

Like noises of a swound.

At length did cross an Albatross,

Thorough the Fog it came;

And an it were a Christian Soul,

We hail'd it in God's name.

The Marineres gave it biscuit-worms,

And round and round it flew:

The Ice did split with a Thunder-fit;

The Helmsman steer'd us thro'.

And a good south wind sprung up behind,

The Albatross did follow;

And every day for food or play

Came to the Marinere's hollo!

In mist or cloud on mast or shroud

It perch'd for vespers nine,

Whiles all the night thro' fog smoke-white

Glimmer'd the white moon-shine.

"God save thee, ancyent Marinere!

"From the fiends that plague thee thus—

"Why look'st thou so?"—with my cross bow

I shot the Albatross.

II.

The Sun came up upon the right,

Out of the Sea came he;

And broad as a weft upon the left

Went down into the Sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind,

But no sweet Bird did follow

Ne any day for food or play

Came to the Marinere's hollo!

And I had done an hellish thing

And it would work 'em woe:

For all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird

That made the Breeze to blow.

Ne dim ne red, like God's own head,

The glorious Sun uprist:

Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird

That brought the fog and mist.

'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay

That bring the fog and mist.

The breezes blew, the white foam flew,

The furrow follow'd free:

We were the first that ever burst

Into that silent Sea.

Down dropt the breeze, the Sails dropt down,

'Twas sad as sad could be

And we did speak only to break

The silence of the Sea.

All in a hot and copper sky

The bloody sun at noon,

Right up above the mast did stand,

No bigger than the moon.

Day after day, day after day,

We stuck, ne breath ne motion,

As idle as a painted Ship

Upon a painted Ocean,

Water, water, every where

And all the boards did shrink;

Water, water, every where,

Ne any drop to drink.

The very deeps did rot: O Christ!

That ever this should be!

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs

Upon the slimy Sea.

About, about, in reel and rout

The Death-fires danc'd at night;

The water, like a witch's oils,

Burnt green and blue and white,

And some in dreams assured were

Of the Spirit that plagued us so:

Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us

From the Land of Mist and Snow.

And every tongue thro' utter drouth

Was withered at the root;

We could not speak no more than if

We had been choked with soot.

Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks

Had I from old and young;

Instead of the Cross the Albatross

About my neck was hung.

III.

I saw a something in the Sky

No bigger than my fist;

At first it seem'd a little speck

And then it seem'd a mist:

It mov'd and mov'd, and took at last

A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!

And still it ner'd and ner'd;

And, an it dodg'd a water-sprite,

It plung'd and tack'd and veer'd.

With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd

Ne could we laugh, ne wail:

Then while thro' drouth all dumb they stood

I bit my arm and suck'd the blood

And cry'd, A sail! a sail!

With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd

Agape they hear'd me call:

Gramercy! they for joy did grin

And all at once their breath drew in

As they were drinking all.

She doth not tack. from side to side—

Hither to work us weal

Withouten wind, withouten tide

She steddies with upright keel.

The western wave was all a flame,

The day was well nigh done!

Almost upon the western wave

Rested the broad bright Sun;

When that strange shape drove suddenly

Betwixt us and the Sun.

And strait the Sun was fleck'd with bars

(Heaven's mother send us grace)

As if thro' a dungeon grate he peer'd

With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)

How fast she neres and neres!

Are those her Sails that glance in the Sun

Like restless gossameres?

Are those her naked ribs, which fleck'd

The sun that did behind them peer?

And are those two all, all the crew,

That woman and her fleshless Pheere?

His bones were black with many a crack,

All black and bare, I ween;

Jet-black and bare, save where with rust

Of mouldy damps and charnel crust

They're patch'd with purple and green,

Her lips are red, her looks are free,

Her locks are yellow as gold:

Her skin is as white as leprosy,

And she is far liker Death than he;

Her flesh makes the still air cold.

The naked Hulk alongside came

And the Twain were playing dice;

"The Game is done! I've won, I've won!"

Quoth she, and whistled thrice.

A gust of wind sterte up behind

And whistled thro' his bones;

Thro' the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth

Half-whistles and half-groans.

With never a whisper in the Sea

Off darts the Spectre-ship;

While clombe above the Eastern bar

The horned Moon, with one bright Star

Almost atween the tips.

One after one by the horned Moon

(Listen, O Stranger! to me)

Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang

And curs'd me with his ee.

Pour times fifty living men,

With never a sigh or groan.

With heavy thump, a lifeless lump

They dropp'd down one by one.

Their fouls did from their bodies fly,—

They fled to bliss or woe;

And every soul it pass'd me by,

Like the whiz of my Cross-bow.

IV.

"I fear thee, ancyent Marinere!

"I fear thy skinny hand;

"And thou art long and lank and brown

"As is the ribb'd Sea-sand.

"I fear thee and thy glittering eye

"And thy skinny hand so brown—

Fear not, fear not, thou wedding guest!

This body dropt not down.

Alone, alone, all all alone

Alone on the wide wide Sea;

And Christ would take no pity on

My soul in agony.

The many men so beautiful,

And they all dead did lie!

And a million million slimy things

Liv'd on—and so did I.

I look'd upon the rotting Sea,

And drew my eyes away;

I look'd upon the eldritch deck,

And there the dead men lay.

I look'd to Heaven, and try'd to pray;

But or ever a prayer had gusht,

A wicked whisper came and made

My heart as dry as dust.

I clos'd my lids and kept them close,

Till the balls like pulses beat;

For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky

Lay like a load on my weary eye,

And the dead were at my feet.

The cold sweat melted from their limbs,

Ne rot, ne reek did they;

The look with which they look'd on me,

Had never pass'd away.

An orphan's curse would drag to Hell

A spirit from on high:

But O! more horrible than that

Is the curse in a dead man's eye!

Seven days, seven nights I saw that curse,

And yet I could not die.

The moving Moon went up the sky

And no where did abide:

Softly she was going up

And a star or two beside—

Her beams bemock'd the sultry main

Like morning frosts yspread;

But where the ship's huge shadow lay,

The charmed water burnt alway

A still and awful red.

Beyond the shadow of the ship

I watch'd the water-snakes:

They mov'd in tracks of shining white;

And when they rear'd, the elfish light

Fell off in hoary flakes.

Within the shadow of the ship

I watch'd their rich attire:

Blue, glossy green, and velvet black

They coil'd and swam; and every track

Was a flash of golden fire.

O happy living things! no tongue

Their beauty might declare:

A spring of love gusht from my heart,

And I bless'd them unaware!

Sure my kind saint took pity on me,

And I bless'd them unaware.

The self-same moment I could pray;

And from my neck so free

The Albatross fell off, and sank

Like lead into the sea.

V.

O sleep, it is a gentle thing

Belov'd from pole to pole!

To Mary-queen the praise be yeven

She sent the gentle sleep from heaven

That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck

That had so long remain'd,

I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew

And when I awoke it rain'd.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,

My garments all were dank;

Sure I had drunken in my dreams

And still my body drank.

I mov'd and could not feel my limbs,

I was so light, almost

I thought that I had died in sleep,

And was a blessed Ghost.

The roaring wind! it roar'd far off,

It did not come anear;

But with its sound it shook the sails

That were so thin and sere.

The upper air bursts into life,

And a hundred fire-flags sheen

To and fro they are hurried about;

And to and fro, and in and out

The stars dance on between.

The coming wind doth roar more loud;

The sails do sigh, like sedge:

The rain pours down from one black cloud

And the Moon is at its edge.

Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft,

And the Moon is at its side:

Like waters shot from some high crag,

The lightning falls with never a jag

A river steep and wide.

The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd

And dropp'd down, like a stone!

Beneath the lightning and the moon

The dead men gave a groan.

They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose,

Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes:

It had been strange, even in a dream

To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steerd, the ship mov'd on;

Yet never a breeze up-blew;

The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes,

Where they were wont to do:

They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools—

We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother's son

Stood by me knee to knee:

The body and I pull'd at one rope,

But he said nought to me—

And I quak'd to think of my own voice

How frightful it would be!

The day-light dawned—they dropp'd their arms.

And cluster'd round the mast:

Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths

And from their bodies pass'd.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,

Then darted to the sun:

Slowly the sounds came back again

Now mix'd, now one by one.

Sometimes a dropping from the sky

I heard the Lavrock sing;

Sometimes all little birds that are

How they seem'd to fill the sea and air

With their sweet jargoning,

And now 'twas like all instruments,

Now like, a lonely flute;

And now it is an angel's song

That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceas'd: yet still the sails made on

A pleasant noise till noon,

A noise like of a hidden brook

In the leafy month of June,

That to the sleeping woods all night

Singeth a quiet tune.

Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest!

"Marinere! thou hast thy will:

"For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make

"My body and soul to be still."

Never sadder tale was told

To a man of woman born:

Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!

Thou'lt rise to morrow morn.

Never sadder tale was heard

By a man of woman born:

The Marineres all return'd to work

As silent as beforne.

The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes,

But look at me they n'old:

Thought I, I am as thin as air—

They cannot me behold.

Till noon we silently sail'd on

Yet never a breeze did breathe:

Slowly and smoothly went the ship

Mov'd onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep

From the land of mist and snow

The spirit slid: and it was He

That made the Ship to go.

The sails at noon left off their tune

And the Ship stood still also.

The sun right up above the mast

Had fix'd her to the ocean:

But in a minute she 'gan stir

With a short uneasy motion—

Backwards and forwards half her length

With a short uneasy motion.

Then, like a pawing horse let go,

She made a sudden bound:

It flung the blood into my head,

And I fell into a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay,

I have not to declare;

But ere my living life return'd,

I heard and in my soul discern'd

Two voices in the air,

"Is it he? quoth one, "Is this the man?

"By him who died on cross,

"With his cruel bow he lay'd full low

"The harmless Albatross.

"The spirit who 'bideth by himself

"In the land of mist and snow,

"He lov'd the bird that lov'd the man

"Who shot him with his bow.

The other was a softer voice,

As soft as honey-dew:

Quoth he the man hath penance done,

And penance more will do,

VI.

First Voice.

"But tell me, tell me! speak again,

"Thy soft response renewing—

"What makes that ship drive on so fast?

"What is the Ocean doing?

Second Voice.

"Still as a Slave before his Lord,

"The Ocean hath no blast:

"His great bright eye most silently

"Up to the moon is cast—

"If he may know which way to go,

"For she guides him smooth or grim.

"See, brother, see! how graciously

"She looketh down on him.

First Voice.

"But why drives on that ship so fast

"Withouten wave or wind?

Second Voice.

"The air is cut away before,

"And closes from behind.

"Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high,

"Or we shall be belated:

"For slow and slow that ship will go,

"When the Marinere's trance is abated."

I woke, and we were sailing on

As in a gentle weather:

'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;

The dead men stood together.

All stood together on the deck,

For a charnel-dungeon fitter:

All fix'd on me their stony eyes

That in the moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died,

Had never pass'd away:

I could not draw my een from theirs

Ne turn them up to pray.

And in its time the spell was snapt,

And I could move my een:

I look'd far-forth, but little saw

Of what might else be seen.

Like one, that on a lonely road

Doth walk in fear and dread,

And having once turn'd round, walks on

And turns no more his head:

Because he knows, a frightful fiend

Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breath'd a wind on me,

Ne sound ne motion made:

Its path was not upon the sea

In ripple or in shade.

It rais'd my hair, it fann'd my cheek.

Like a meadow-gale of spring—

It mingled strangely with my fears,

Yet it felt like a welcoming.

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,

Yet she sail'd softly too:

Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—

On me alone it blew.

O dream of joy! is this indeed

The light-house top I see?

Is this the Hill? Is this the Kirk?

Is this mine own countrée?

We drifted o'er the Harbour-bar,

And I with sobs did pray—

"O let me be awake, my God!

"Or let me sleep alway!"

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,

So smoothly it was strewn!

And on the bay the moon light lay,

And the shadow of the moon.

The moonlight bay was white all o'er,

Till rising from the same,

Full many shapes, that shadows were,

Like as of torches came.

A little distance from the prow

Those dark-red shadows were;

But soon I saw that my own flesh

Was red as in a glare.

I turn'd my head in fear and dread,

And by the holy rood,

The bodies had advanc'd, and now

Before the mast they stood.

They lifted up their stiff right arms,

They held them strait and tight;

And each right-arm burnt like a torch,

A torch that's borne upright.

Their stony eye-balls glitter'd on

In the red and smoky light.

I pray'd and turn'd my head away

Forth looking as before.

There was no breeze upon the bay,

No wave against the shore.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less

That stands above the rock:

The moonlight steep'd in silentness

The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light,

Till rising from the same

Full many shapes, that shadows were,

In crimson colours came.

A little distance from the prow

Those crimson shadows were:

I turn'd my eyes upon the deck—

O Christ! what saw I there?

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat;

And by the Holy rood

A man all light, a seraph-man,

On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand:

It was a heavenly sight:

They stood as signals to the land,

Each one a lovely light:

This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand,

No voice did they impart—

No voice; but O! the silence sank,

Like music on my heart.

Eftsones I heard the dash of oars,

I heard the pilot's cheer:

My head was turn'd perforce away

And I saw a boat appear.

Then vanish'd all the lovely lights;

The bodies rose anew:

With silent pace, each to his place,

Came back the ghastly crew.

The wind, that shade nor motion made,

On me alone it blew.

The pilot, and the pilot's boy

I heard them coming fast:

Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy,

The dead men could not blast.

I saw a third—I heard his voice:

It is the Hermit good!

He singeth loud his godly hymns

That he makes in the wood.

He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away

The Albatross's blood,

VII.

This Hermit good lives in that wood

Which slopes down to the Sea.

How loudly his sweet voice he rears!

He loves to talk with Marineres

That come from a far Contrée.

He kneels at morn and noon and eve—

He hath a cushion plump:

It is the moss, that wholly hides

The rotted old Oak-stump.

The Skiff-boat ne'rd: I heard them talk,

"Why, this is strange, I trow!

"Where are those lights so many and fair

"That signal made but now?

"Strange, by my faith! the Hermit said—

"And they answer'd not our cheer.

"The planks look warp'd, and see those sails

"How thin they are and sere!

"I never saw aught like to them

"Unless perchance it were

"The skeletons of leaves that lag

"My forest brook along:

"When the Ivy-tod is heavy with snow,

"And the Owlet whoops to the wolf below

"That eats the she-wolf's young.

"Dear Lord! it has a fiendish look—

(The Pilot made reply)

"I am a-fear'd.—"Push on, push on!

"Said the Hermit cheerily.

The Boat came closer to the Ship,

But I ne spake ne stirr'd!

The Boat came close beneath the Ship,

And strait a sound was heard!

Under the water it rumbled on,

Still louder and more dread:

It reach'd the Ship, it split the bay;

The Ship went down like lead.

Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound,

Which sky and ocean smote:

Like one that hath been seven days drown'd

My body lay afloat:

But, swift as dreams, myself I found

Within the Pilot's boat.

Upon the whirl, where sank the Ship,

The boat spun round and round:

And all was still, save that the hill

Was telling of the sound.

I mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek'd

And fell down in a fit.

The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes

And pray'd where he did sit.

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,

Who now doth crazy go,

Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while

His eyes went to and fro,

"Ha! ha!" quoth he—"full plain I see,

"The devil knows how to row."

And now all in mine own Countrée

I stood on the firm land!

The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat,

And scarcely he could stand.

"O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man!

The Hermit cross'd his brow—

"Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say

"What manner man art thou?

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd

With a woeful agony,

Which forc'd me to begin my tale

And then it left me free.

Since then at an uncertain hour,

Now oftimes and now fewer,

That anguish comes and makes me tell

My ghastly aventure.

I pass, like night, from land to land;

I have strange power of speech;

The moment that his face I see

I know the man that must hear me;

To him my tale I teach.

What loud uproar bursts from that door!

The Wedding-guests are there;

But in the Garden-bower the Bride

And Bride-maids singing are:

And hark the little Vesper-bell

Which biddeth me to prayer.

O Wedding-guest! this soul hath been

Alone on a wide wide sea:

So lonely 'twas, that God himself

Scarce seemed there to be.

O sweeter than the Marriage-feast,

'Tis sweeter far to me

To walk together to the Kirk

With a goodly company.

To walk together to the Kirk

And all together pray,

While each to his great father bends,

Old men, and babes, and loving friends,

And Youths, and Maidens gay.

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell

To thee, thou wedding-guest!

He prayeth well who loveth well,

Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best who loveth best,

All things both great and small:

For the dear God, who loveth us,

He made and loveth all.

The Marinere, whose eye is bright,

Whose beard with age is hoar,

Is gone; and now the wedding-guest

Turn'd from the bridegroom's door.

He went, like one that hath been stunn'd

And is of sense forlorn:

A sadder and a wiser man

He rose the morrow morn.