There’s something about John Masefield’s “Sea Fever” that is very … adaptable. I’ve been inspired by his poem before to write about weaving in the Fever post. But today I realized I hadn’t made a sprang pouch in 2 days, and was feeling the pangs of withdrawal … and this happened.
Sprang Fever
I must go back to the sprang again, to the lonely warp and the frame,
And all I ask is a pattern and a safety rope to tame,
And the yarns' twist, as the colours' travel, all interlinking,
And the twining slides on the fabric's face, and the small dots blinking.
I must go back to the sprang again for the call of the intertwined
Is a wild call and a clear that cannot be left behind.
And all I ask is a clear warp with the colours alternating,
And the twined slide and the sudden turn and the midpoint waiting ...
I must go back to the sprang again, to the stretchy warp of yore
To the pouch sewn and the hair net that was worn in the far before.
And all I ask is a merry yarn dyed the cheerful colours adored,
And a pile of pouches stacking high to form a loving hoard.
I had a little hoard of pouches; they’ve traveled to White Wolf and Phoenix in search of new homes. I have, of course, immediately started the new collection, but these are the ones on the road.
