Ocean Country: One Woman's Voyage from Peril to Hope in her by Liz Cunningham
By Liz Cunningham
Ocean Countryis an experience tale, a decision to motion, and a poetic meditation at the country of the seas. yet most significantly it's the tale of discovering precise desire in the middle of one of many maximum crises to stand humankind, the swiftly degrading nation of the environment. After a near-drowning twist of fate during which she was once quickly paralyzed, Liz Cunningham crisscrosses the globe so one can comprehend the threats to our brilliant yet endangered oceans. This intimate account charts her exciting trip via unforeseen encounters with conservationists, fishermen, sea nomads, and scientists within the Mediterranean, Sulawesi, the Turks and Caicos Islands, and Papua, New Guinea.
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Extra info for Ocean Country: One Woman's Voyage from Peril to Hope in her Quest To Save the Seas
As many as 28,838 Jewish prisoners were transported along this line from Auschwitz and Dachau to Kaufering to work as slaves on the construction of the underground aircraft plants Diana II and Walnuß II. Some 14,500 died in the plant or were transported, when they had become too weak to work, back through Türkenfeld to the gas chambers. Our first unknowing reading of the poem, and with it the poem’s own translation of an unruffled, apparently unremarkable landscape “mutely” watching us “vanish,” points to the perilous consequences of our loss of cultural memory.
Of the eighty-eight poems published here in translation for the first time, thirty-three draw on unpublished* manuscripts deposited for the Estate of W. G. Sebald at the German Literature Archive, while fifty-five are translations of poems in the German volume Über das Land und das Wasser (Across the Land and the Water), edited by Sven Meyer in 2008. The question that naturally arises is why Sebald did not publish “School Latin” or “Across the Land and the Water” after their completion—probably in 1975 and 1984 respectively.
And C. Artmann, Royal Engineers. ’s Emigration His personal effects are ready to leave Entered well in advance the calligraphic endorsement an analphabetic cipher valid for a single journey Pictures sent en route greetings from Bohemian Switzerland and a group photo in front of the High Tatras Didn’t you have your photograph taken in Franzensbad too Through Holland in the Dark The cucumbers lurk in their greenhouses The customs official borrows my evening paper A wet hand casts no shadow Kaiser Willem is still smoking his cigars No sign of the reclaimed land Abandoned like Kafka’s essay on Goethe’s abominable nature Mölkerbastei Beethoven’s room is tidy now The pictures straightened the curtains washed and week for week the floors polished anew But the chair for the grand has been taken away He still comes in at night sometimes and composes something standing up The proviso is it be audible only with an ear-trumpet A Galley Lies off Helsingborg Such desolation in Harwich Harbor when I am here it always seems to me as if we were in the throes of a silent war The hollow barges all that bulky worn-out iron the oil-green water and the ever stiller county of Essex round about The poor travelers with their woe-begone faces oppressed hapless folk standing here waiting on the Red Sea shore Nobody tells them where the ferries are heading for tonight Holkham Gap A green zone for field glasses and camouflaged ornithologists Beyond it the bay its sweep broader than the furthest horizon The Home Guard waited here for the sea lion to appear When the monster didn’t show the marram was permitted to reoccupy the fortified strip But Uncle Toby doesn’t entirely trust the peace Stuffing his pillow with sand he wishes the deluge would begin Norfolk Sailing backwards as a passenger with banished time A Louisianian landscape populated by invisible windmillers Where the Egyptian in his painted boat sails between fields Crossing the Water In early November 1980 walking across the Bridge of Peace I almost went out of my mind Natural History In Man it is the Quadruped in Woman the Amphibian who has the upper Hand Ballad Is Carl Löwe’s heart really immured in a column in the Church of St.