A newly-posted poem. I can tell you precisely where I put it together – walking from the youth hostel just outside Minehead in Somerset and the nearest pub. Minehead, by the way, is next door to Porlock, famous for the “gentleman from Porlock” who according to Coleridge interrupted his reverie when he was composing “Kubla Khan” and cuased it to be unfinished.
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN
You have a kind of faith I cannot share,
Thomas my saint, the doubt of a darkening sky my glory
And in the wonder of the half-heard things
I march on a stumbling track not for the faithful.
The Flying Dutchman is my dream
But in the end to reach another harbour
Insinuated by the alien forms
Brought on the currents from the unknown shore
Which even then I felt I knew before.