I received this reply from the web site where I got this poem: "All I can recall is an older gentleman sent me a copy from the Liverpool area some time back when I was searching for "tree" info on my grandfather (also from that area). I am not into poems myself per say, but that one did something. I added the gulls at the beginning but that is all. I would think Mr Sumner is probably from that area. Sorry it could not be more. All the best, Hugh Brown."So if anyone from Liverpool knows who the poet might be, let me know.
In the meantime, I put a tune to this (midi HERE)(nwc file HERE). It's an ABA form with the A part in a minor key, the B part in the relative major and then back to the minor, and then the A part again in a minor key. Once I started it just fell out, so I feel fairly good about it. Below is the text (only slightly changed to fit the meter) with chords and bar marks. Let me know what you think.
LIVERPOOL BAY - words by John E. M. Sumner (copyright ?); music by Stewart Hendrickson (copyright, 2002)
The /(Dm)strong salt (A7)winds at /(Dm)Li-ver-(C)pool
That /(Dm)sweep a-(A7)cross the /(Dm)Bay
Once /(Dm)brought the (A7)great proud /(Dm)ships of (C)old
With /(Dm)teak from (A7)Man-da-/lay,
With /(F)bars of gold from /(C)lands un-told,
With /(F)cloves from Zan-zi-/(C)bar,
With /(Dm)tea and (A7)jute from /(Dm)Chit-ta-(A7)gong
And /(Dm)rub-ber (A7)from Pa-(Dm)ra;
Trim /(Dm)fig-ure (A7)head and /(Dm)snow-y (C)sail,
Tall /(Dm)mast and (A7)tap-er'd (Dm)spar,
A (Dm)rhyth-mic (A7)shan-ty /(Dm)from the (C)waist,
The /(Dm)smell of (A7)Stock-holm /(Dm)tar.
Whilst /yet the fog bells /clang and drone
And /eyes are tired and /red
With /peer-ing o-ver /wea-ther cloths
To /see what looms a-/head;
Or /Sum-mer shakes her /train of gold
And /dawn breaks slow, su-/preme,
With /fun-nels red and /fun-nels white
Re-/flect-ed in the /stream;
The /times have changed on /Mer-sey-side,
The /years have tra-vell'd /on,
And /ug-ly duck-lings /plough and sheer
Where /once there sailed a /swan.
Safe /an-chored in a /land-locked bay,
- /Washed_by some ri-ver /cool,
They /lie at rest in /fair-er ports
Than /e-ven Li-ver-/pool;
For-/got-ten, garland'd with /mist and fog
They /drowse at an-chor /there,
Whilst /wraiths of beard-ed /sai-lor-men
Pa-/trol each poop and /stare;
Borne /faint-ly on an /eer-ie wind
There /goes a bos-un's /call,
- /Scraping as dim yards /come a-round,
The /clack-ing of a /pall.
Then /id-ly, these tall /ships will turn
And /heark-en to the /breeze
That /whis-pers in the /ghost-ly shrouds
Of /days re-mote from /these;
Re-/mem-bering weeks of /driv-ing sleet
And /high seas round the /Horn,
And /lit-tle is-lands, /sil-ver rimmed,
Where /mol-ly-hawks are /born;
Re-/call-ing long, cool, /fra-grant nights
Be-/neath a Sou-thern /moon;
The /Ri-o Grande or /Shen-an-doah
To_a /con-cer-tin-as /tune.
Yet /of-ten, just be-/fore the dawn,
They /see in dreams a-/far
The /glim-mer of the /Cros-by Light
And /rain a-cross the /Bar.
Cheers, S. in Seattle