POEM TITLE
Shore Leave
POEM
I stumbled on the bank, my land-legs lost.
The swaying motion of a ship, I knew;
The blank horizon, where the stars alone
Picked out a path — gardens where sea-weeds grew
In masses jungle-thick — and I had grown
Accustomed to the knowledge of their cost.
Shore-leave’s a burden, even in a place
Where pints are freely poured, where laughter reigns —
Temptation to be rid of it, the world
Where life or death are as the ocean deigns
And round the ship the mocking waves are curled,
Devouring light, consuming every trace
Of life above the water. I have dreamed
Strange dreams, of sea-ghosts in abyssal halls
Like dark cathedrals, mirroring each soft
Footfall on deck, till the ungentle calls
Of watch to watch demanded me aloft,
And yawning wide, the vision came unseamed,
With guttering lantern-flame — I’ve ventured out
To gaze at nothing, blackness on sea, like ink,
Rising with every wave. Silent before
These thoughts, which in the wild night ocean sink,
I’ve fought away the memory of the shore.
The Lobster-Pot is full tonight, no doubt
As full of talk as any pub, where cross
The ones with news, and those with tales, and which
Are true or false, is left for us to guess,
If any are. In time there comes a twitch
Of halyard, and they rise to go, and bless
The host and house, lamenting at their loss.
The boats went back and forth across the bay
When once I watched them sail, and in their shape
Dull grey against the bank, yet living, floating
Beyond all reason’s laws, I saw escape —
I rose, and left the pub, and left, devoting
My days to roving, swearing not to stay.
This fraying memory binds me to the shore:
Though all I need to know is where I’m bound,
An urge to stay, the surging tide returning
Until to sand these lingering hopes are ground,
Persists — I see no more the lanterns burning
Nor hear the laughter just beyond the door.
No more — the sails are raised, the ship’s unmoored,
As lobster pots lie splintered down below
Their broken traps a ruin, so the thought
Of lingering here is broken, with each blow
The wind gives to our canvas, filling taut
With resignation — a farewell, endured.
We’ll watch Blackness-on-Sea recede, and let
One, then another, town behind us fade
Into the evening light, past Edinburgh, the grey
And wavering-weak reflections that they made
To ghosts returning. Soon nothing will stay
But ink-dark waves. My course has long been set,
I made my choice, and took my outward track,
I made my place the bold forth-facing bow —
The lights recede — and if the sea could teach
Forgetfulness, I’d learn its mercies now,
Before the land is yet beyond our reach Beyond the firth where none can venture back.