Waves of Memories
In his piece “Out of Water” Costa Rican poet Luis Chaves explores his lifelong relationship with the Pacific coast of Costa Rica and how it has evolved over his lifetime. Reminiscent of how years later Annie Dillard could still see the artful lines from Dave Rahm’s airshow, Chaves can still clearly picture the Pacific ocean at night from the window of a bus on the Inter-American highway. Chaves can clearly see the constant waves crashing on the sandy shore and “branches, seashells, a sandal, corks, and wine cartons brought back like buoys from some other ruin run aground on a new continent.” Then, Chaves describes the importance and majestic nature of being present in the moment, especially with the ocean, “Not so far away, someone is listening to a radio, listening to news of a world that may as well have been suspended a million light years from what is here now.”
In the next section of the piece, Chaves begins to explore waves of his own, more personal memories. They seemed to drift into his mind and onto paper as the message filled bottles he spoke of drifted onto the beach. The ocean holds memories. The ocean holds memories, but they don’t always wash up on shore when you are there. It’s not every night that Chaves remembers his high school ex-girlfriend, but sometimes she drifts onto the sandy beach. Every day when I drive past the ice cream parlor I don’t think of my first date, but sometimes it washes to the surface of my memories. Additionally, even when we can’t physically see the ocean, or the ice cream parlor, it’s still there; the ocean is still there holding onto our memories even when it “speaks in tongues.”
Chaves now speaks of his more recent observations of the beach. He metaphorically begins to describe people he sees at the beach now, “An over-population of fauna on the shore, the vacationing kind... Fishermen, further in, pissing covertly...boats travelling with only one man aboard. Those who, facing the ocean, close their eyes and make empty promises.” These are the people he sees at the beach now. He sees people selfishly using and abusing the ocean. He sees people no longer focused on the ocean’s magic, on its beauty, or its mystery, or even its memories. He sees a mass of tourists. He sees drilling for fossil fuels far off the coast, as though that is what the ocean is there for. He sees fishermen, negatively impacting the ocean, but less so than mass tourism and drilling. He sees others on the edge of the ocean attempting to relate to it, to speak to it, but who are too self-absorbed to do so successfully, too self-absorbed to truly be captivated by the ocean’s enchanting spell.
Following this list of what Chaves sees as people misusing the ocean, he addresses his least favorite type of ocean misuser, those who carelessly, but advertently disrespect the ocean, those don’t close their eyes, “Those who stand in ankle-deep water, believing the whole ocean’s knowable from that depth...Those who pitch messageless bottles into the ocean, belching. Those who intuit the ocean is no more than a whole lot of water.”
Chaves ends the piece near where it began, with his fascination and gratitude for the ocean itself and how the beach used to be. However, he recognizes this ocean, this beach is a memory, no longer alive, the waves no longer crashing on the shore, “The sea like hard candy.”
*I had a difficult time comprehending this poetic piece of creative nonfiction. As a result, I reached out to my friend and academic peer, Grace Bostic. She helped me interpret this piece beyond my limited, largely academic perspective.
In the next section of the piece, Chaves begins to explore waves of his own, more personal memories. They seemed to drift into his mind and onto paper as the message filled bottles he spoke of drifted onto the beach. The ocean holds memories. The ocean holds memories, but they don’t always wash up on shore when you are there. It’s not every night that Chaves remembers his high school ex-girlfriend, but sometimes she drifts onto the sandy beach. Every day when I drive past the ice cream parlor I don’t think of my first date, but sometimes it washes to the surface of my memories. Additionally, even when we can’t physically see the ocean, or the ice cream parlor, it’s still there; the ocean is still there holding onto our memories even when it “speaks in tongues.”
Chaves now speaks of his more recent observations of the beach. He metaphorically begins to describe people he sees at the beach now, “An over-population of fauna on the shore, the vacationing kind... Fishermen, further in, pissing covertly...boats travelling with only one man aboard. Those who, facing the ocean, close their eyes and make empty promises.” These are the people he sees at the beach now. He sees people selfishly using and abusing the ocean. He sees people no longer focused on the ocean’s magic, on its beauty, or its mystery, or even its memories. He sees a mass of tourists. He sees drilling for fossil fuels far off the coast, as though that is what the ocean is there for. He sees fishermen, negatively impacting the ocean, but less so than mass tourism and drilling. He sees others on the edge of the ocean attempting to relate to it, to speak to it, but who are too self-absorbed to do so successfully, too self-absorbed to truly be captivated by the ocean’s enchanting spell.
Following this list of what Chaves sees as people misusing the ocean, he addresses his least favorite type of ocean misuser, those who carelessly, but advertently disrespect the ocean, those don’t close their eyes, “Those who stand in ankle-deep water, believing the whole ocean’s knowable from that depth...Those who pitch messageless bottles into the ocean, belching. Those who intuit the ocean is no more than a whole lot of water.”
Chaves ends the piece near where it began, with his fascination and gratitude for the ocean itself and how the beach used to be. However, he recognizes this ocean, this beach is a memory, no longer alive, the waves no longer crashing on the shore, “The sea like hard candy.”
*I had a difficult time comprehending this poetic piece of creative nonfiction. As a result, I reached out to my friend and academic peer, Grace Bostic. She helped me interpret this piece beyond my limited, largely academic perspective.
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