There is a seasickness that is more like a spell than a sickness. It is a yearning, a calling, a burning whereby people seek to break free of the finite and sail out into the boundless by the illimitable analogy that the sea is. That sea has beckoned land dwellers to live out their lives as tossing toys upon its heaving back—or beneath it, as the case may be. That sea, with its famous depth of majesty and mystery, is well-known by any who have crested the foamy currents or stood on a crashing shore. We are creatures of earth, but we long for the sea. The poetry of the sea is as vast as the watery part of the world itself, and giants of this genre include Tennyson’s Ulysses sailing “beyond the sunset,” Wordsworth’s vision of Proteus rising from the sea as he hears “old Triton blow his wreathéd …