if the soul

It was years ago, back in the first workplace, when i first encountered this poem. A friend showed it to me during a conversation that must have been about music and literature -- but i can't remember exactly. i wasn't too impressed at the time, but somehow, the images of limpets and rock pools have stayed with me all these years. Was reminded of it yesterday, and have read it several times since. i'd never really noticed its fierce, elegiac beauty before. The more i read it, the more i like it.
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And i don't even know the title...
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If the soul of my dead father remembers anything
he will remember the rake of these rock pools, the lean
of their stacked lines, he will note limpets and shrimps
and know this umbrella mist as it falls lightly as drizzle.
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If he remembers anything he will hear the clipped whisper
of the waves on the turn, here where he used to swim
far out as if -- I wonder now -- it was his only solitude.
I suppose a soul from this place will hear the gulls squeaking
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and have no argument with high-sighted oblique storms.
'High tides are expected,' a woman said to me today,
my father's soul will want to be here, in the spray
and in the gale, in the storm's uncompromising rage.
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i.m. Albert Hart
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(David Hart)
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