This post follows in the spirit of What Rip Saw 1 and 2. And the Emma in question is she who wrote the New Colossus. Her ghost whispered to me yesterday as I looked south from the Battery and saw among other things the muddy tinge to the waters, a hint of freshet from upriver.
She reminded me that Le Grand Bleu had been here before here (scroll) and here, as well as craft of the same type like Topaz and Luna. And something about mischief associated with yachts like Alicia . . .
Then Emma’s voice became clearer . . . “I have to revise it,” she said, and then trailed off a bit, almost a mumble, but
what I caught was
“From whence this storied pomp,” cried she
With averted eyes. “Spare me your pompous, your show-offs,
Your superrich, your oligarchs of energy.
Send instead your strivers, tempest tossed to me;
Otherwise my lamp matters no more.”
Then, Emma was gone, flown off with the wings of a gull.
All I have is this set of photos and a recollection of her thoughts, her voice, to share.
Here’s more to keep a lookout for this summer.