Gordon Bok is not an easy man to pigeonhole. Is he a sailor, poet, philanthropist, philosopher, singer, musician, inquisitor of life Ð or all of the above?

But while the man is not easy to define, his musical legacy has an identifiable niche. His music - moreso than the music of anyone else in New England - defines what it is like to go down to the sea in ships. Not only do seafarers see the wonders of the Lord; they also see things they'd rather forget. And those waiting for them on shore often wait in vain.

Bok was drawn to the water as a kid, working on the Camden schooners for more than 30 years, off and on. He says of those early schooners: "It was mostly sailing skill and the shipworms holding hands that kept them in one piece." (His lively ode to the schooners is called Jericho Ð after Jericho Bay in eastern Penobscot Bay.)

He was also drawn to music at an early age. He is mostly a self-taught musician, though he did receive some instruction, mostly from schooner skippers and shipyard owners. He also received valuable advice after he started making instruments and playing the 12-string guitar. Don't use a table saw, he was told - and he hasn't from that day to this, since a slip would have dire consequences for his guitar playing.

Nevertheless, he has been involved with building many instruments over the years. He recalls that the first guitar he built with a friend actually started out to be an iceboat-building project. "But we didn't have enough wood for an iceboat, so we built the guitar," Bok says. "And we didn't even have enough wood for that. We call it our coffin model - it was a strange shape."

In addition to guitar, he also plays cello. But it's his voice that is the most distinctive part of his music. The rich bass baritone with the Down East accent ... once you hear it, you don't forget it. And the songs also resonate in the mind a long time, possibly because they reflect the soul of the singer. As Bok says, "I won't learn a song my body doesn't crave."

His own songwriting relies on his understanding of other people's lives. "Songs are the speaking of a person's whole life," he says, "to be taken very seriously into our own lives." He recalls that Mrs. McDonald's Lament was written based on a conversation he had with a lady on Isle au Haut.

Often he puts to music the words of others. One example is the glorious hymm called Sailor's Carol, a poem by Charles Causley.

Lord, the snowful sky

In this pale December

Fingers my clear eye

Lest seeing I remember

Not the naked baby

Weeping in the stable

Nor the singing boys

All round my table.

Not the dizzy star

Bursting on the pane

Nor the leopard sun

Pawing the rain

Only the deep garden

Where green lilies grow

And the sailors rolling

On the sea's blue snow.

Most of the songs that Bok and his companions perform are either traditional or are written by friends. One such friend is pediatrician Larry Kaplan, who wrote the words and music for The Loss of the Bay Rupert Ð the story of a Hudson's Bay Company supply ship that foundered while on a voyage to bring supplies to a missionary settlement in Labrador. Bok says of the songwriter-turned-physician: "He isn't writing much right now, but I'm sure he will again should sanity demand it." Bok says he and Kaplan used to sing together "in the fo'c'sles of the dawn."

Kaplan's song exemplifies the sort of songs that Bok seems to like Ð tales that show a great love for the sea, and a great respect for the sea, and for all life.

It was Sunday when the ship went down,

And the town was all at prayer,

But no missionary, minister,

Or the word of God could have kept them

there.

"All's lost, all's lost!" the captain cried,

"And I'll never sail the more!"

"All's found, all's found!" cried the Eskimos

As they waited by the shore.

The music he writes and the songs he chooses to sing can be cheerful or sad. One of the most mournful (albeit beautifully so) is Boat of Silver, by poet and songwriter Judy Goodenough.

The rose that blooms blows its petals over

And the thorns lie upon the bough.

The girls have gone now to a different lover;

They will not linger beside me now.

For swiftly come all the tides returning;

Swiftly go then and will not stay.

There is no boatman can net the morning;

There is no boatman can net the day.

His own Turning Toward the Morning is one of his very sweetest songs.

Oh my Joanie don't you know

that the stars are swingin' slow

and the seas are rolling easy

as they did so long ago

And if I had a thing to give you

I would tell you one more time

that the world is always turning

toward the morning.

Bok's tunes bring out the truth of the lyrics that he sets to music, as in the sprightly and comical Liza Jane, about a cargo schooner with a blue foremast. In his notes for the song, he says, "This vessel had a lot going against her; in some places painting any part of a vessel blue is horrible bad luck." (She also set sail on Friday Ð more bad luck.)

Oh the Liza Jane left port one day

With a fine fair tide and the day Friday,

But the damned old tide sent her bow askew

And the Liza Jane began to slew

Hi diddle di, she'da' fairly flew

If she only could sail the other-end-to.

Much of Bok's music-making has been with long-time associates Ann Mayo Muir and Ed Trickett. Bok has been singing with Muir for 40 years; with Trickett more than 20 years. They have produced numerous albums on the Folk-Legacy label, have appeared on Prairie Home Companion a number of times, and will give their final concerts on the road this year. (Muir lives in France and Trickett in Maryland, so getting a concert tour prepared is not an easy matter.)

Bok doesn't lack for musical companions. Over the years he has played with most of the folk musicians in New England and in the Canadian Maritimes - or so it seems. On his two volumes of the February Tapes, there were 47 musicians taking part at one time or another. (The recordings contain an irreverent collection of songs, the criteria for which was that a song for the album had to either be cheerful, or be so miserable it made you laugh, or in some other way took you away from the reality of a Maine winter.)

Bok lives and works in his studio, Timberhead Records, north of Camden. In the summer he and his wife, harper Carol Rohl, move onto their sailboat. The Charles Angle-designed 32-foot sloop is moored in Rockport. But they don't stay there too much. Nor do they try to travel long distances. Last summer they voyaged east as far as Jonesport, but their normal cruising area is from Schoodic Point (east of Mt. Desert) to Seguin Island (off the mouth of the Kennebec River). As Bok says, "One of the nice things about living on a boat is you don't have to get anywhere. You're already there."

The other nice thing about living on a boat is getting away from all the people and commitments that press down on us ashore. This is the dichotomy for most sailors Ð the desire to get away; the desire for companionship. Bok puts the issue into words and music in All My Sailors.

The first boat I put out to sea

I didn't know where that boat was going

All I want was away from here and all I knew

was keep on rowing.

The first boat I took out to sea

I wouldn't have none to sail with me

None to row and none to tow and none to stow

my cargo down.

But I come a rollin' through the calm

And all my guiding stars were gone

There was three old sailors by my helm tell

me I don't sail alone.

One named Peter, one named Saul

And one don't claim no name at all

One to sing and one to haul and one to heave

me when I fall.

His recording sessions seem to also reflect the duality of his nature: Sometimes he records solo; but usually he records with others, often helping out on the recordings of friends. (And often using the recordings for the benefit of the community; such as the proceeds of the February Tapes, which went to community projects.)

Bok doesn't see himself as only a folk singer. He points out that earlier on he was drawn to jazz and later to cowboy songs. In fact, he says, he didn't get deeply immersed in folk songs until he ran out of cowboy songs. As for his seeming affinity for the sea songs that come from the Maritimes, he says it's because there are so many of them.

Of course he continually adds to the number. One of the grandest is his Bay of Fundy.

Fundy's long and Fundy's wide.

Fundy's fog and rain and tide;

never see the sun or sky,

just the green wave going by.

There is no end in sight for the songs that are yet to come from this sailor/musician. "I may stop touring, but I can't imagine not making music," he says.

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