Twenty Poems about Silence (1 of 4) – Analysis and Commentary

This first group includes my favorite poems on this subject, all composed by poets widely recognized for mastery of their craft.

When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer by Walt Whitman

When I heard the learn’d astronomer,

When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,

When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,

When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,

How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,

Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,

In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

Dr. W. E. McFarlane

The above famous poem dwells upon the dynamic between science and art—two divergent responses to the contemplation of nature.

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Snowy woods

Another famous poem, the poet equally famous. The poem is not about silence, strictly speaking, but it is an unusually quiet poem—“The only other sound's the sweep / Of easy wind and downy flake.” Natural bedfellows, silence and death are in this poem conjoined motifs.

The Habit of Perfection by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Elected Silence, sing to me

And beat upon my whorlèd ear,

Pipe me to pastures still and be

The music that I care to hear.

Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb:

It is the shut, the curfew sent

From there where all surrenders come

Which only makes you eloquent.

Be shellèd, eyes, with double dark

And find the uncreated light:

This ruck and reel which you remark

Coils, keeps, and teases simple sight.

Palate, the hutch of tasty lust,

Desire not to be rinsed with wine:

The can must be so sweet, the crust

So fresh that come in fasts divine!

Nostrils, your careless breath that spend

Upon the stir and keep of pride,

What relish shall the censers send

Along the sanctuary side!

O feel-of-primrose hands, O feet

That want the yield of plushy sward,

But you shall walk the golden street

And you unhouse and house the Lord.

And, Poverty, be thou the bride

And now the marriage feast begun,

And lily-coloured clothes provide

Your spouse not laboured-at nor spun.

Allegory of the Five Senses (1630) by Lubin Baugin

Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem expounds a series of contradictions. “Elected silence”—renunciation of the sense of hearing—is transformed into “the music that I care to hear.” The sense of sight that undergoes “double dark” is blessed with “uncreated light.”

Underlying the series is the theological conviction that self-denial undertaken for religious reasons reaps its corresponding spiritual rewards. The paradoxical motif applies to the five senses, and the poem ends personifying “Poverty” as the bride of the “spouse”—the Divine bridegroom—alluded to in garments “lily-coloured,” white standing for purity.

Peculiarly, the poem demonstrates “sprung rhythm,” the metrical system developed by Hopkins.

“Elected Silence” is the title of the UK version of Thomas Merton’s The Seven Storey Mountain (1948). The original version of the autobiography was published in New York by Harcourt Brace. Elected Silence (1949), the version edited by Evelyn Waugh, was published in London by Hollis and Carter.

A callarse por Pablo Neruda

Ahora contaremos doce

y nos quedamos todos quietos.

Por una vez sobre la tierra

no hablemos en ningun idioma,

por un segundo detengamonos,

no movamos tanto los brazos.

Seria un minuto fragante,

sin prisa, sin locomotoras,

todos estariamos juntos

en una inquietud instantanea.

Los pescadores del mar frio

no harian danio a las ballenas

y el trabajador de la sal

miraria sus manos rotas.

Los que preparan guerras verdes,

guerras de gas, guerras de fuego,

victorias sin sobrevivientes,

se pondrian un traje puro

y andarian con sus hermanos

por la sombra, sin hacer nada.

No se confunda lo que quiero

con la inaccion definitiva:

la vida es solo lo que se hace,

no quiero nada con la muerte.

Si no pudimos ser unanimes

moviendo tanto nuestras vidas,

tal vez no hacer nada una vez,

tal vez un gran silencio pueda

interrumpir esta tristeza,

este no entendernos jamas

y amenazarnos con la muerte,

tal vez la tierra nos ensenie

cuando todo parece muerto

y luego todo estaba vivo.

Ahora contare hasta doce

y tu te callas y me voy.

KEEPING QUIET by Pablo Neruda

Original language Spanish

Translated by Alastair Reid

And now we will count to twelve

and we will all keep still.

For once on the face of the earth

let’s not speak in any language,

let’s stop for one second,

and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment

without rush, without engines,

we would all be together

in a sudden strangeness.

Fisherman in the cold sea

would not harm whales

and the man gathering salt

would not look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,

wars with gas, wars with fire,

victory with no survivors,

would put on clean clothes

and walk about with their brothers

in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused

with total inactivity.

Life is what it is about,

I want no truck with death.

If we were not so single-minded

about keeping our lives moving,

and for once could do nothing,

perhaps a huge silence

might interrupt this sadness

of never understanding ourselves

and of threatening ourselves with death.

Perhaps the earth can teach us

as when everything seems dead

and later proves to be alive.

Now I’ll count up to twelve,

and you keep quiet and I will go.

Grandfather clock face

See: http://spanishpoems.blogspot.com/2005/02/pablo-neruda-callarse.html 

 

—“Pablo Neruda -A callarse-,” Poemas en Inglés

Pablo Neruda received the 1971 Nobel Prize in Literature. Unfortunately, his poetry in Spanish is not very accessible to the English-speaking world. “No writer of world renown is perhaps so little known to North Americans as Chilean poet Pablo Neruda,” wrote New York Times Book Review critic Selden Rodman. See:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/pablo-neruda 

 

—“Pablo Neruda: 1904–1973,” Poetry Foundation

The above translation by Alastair Reid demonstrates Neruda’s lyrical flair, haunting imagery, anguished depth, and activist social vision.

Connotation of “guerras verdes” eludes me. Porque las guerras estan verdes?

Aware by Denise Levertov

When I opened the door

I found the vine leaves

speaking among themselves in abundant

whispers.

                  My presence made them

hush their green breath,

embarrassed, the way

humans stand up, buttoning their jackets,

acting as if they were leaving anyway, as if

the conversation had ended

just before you arrived.

                                           I liked

the glimpse I had, though,

of their obscure

gestures. I liked the sound

of such private voices. Next time

I'll move like cautious sunlight, open

the door by fractions, eavesdrop

peacefully.

Vine leaves

The above poem was published posthumously in Denise Levertov’s last book, The Great Unknowing: Last Poems (1999). Many copies of the poem appear online. See, for example:

https://allpoetry.com/poem/8503415-Aware-by-Denise-Levertov 

 

—Denise Levertov, “Aware,” All Poetry

In this poem we encounter Levertov’s aptitude for conveying keen insights using striking imagery about the ordinary and commonplace. It illustrates well what one critic has said of her poetry: “…she [was] often inspired by the humble, the commonplace, or the small, and she [composed] remarkably perceptive poems about a single flower, a man walking two dogs in the rain, and even sunlight glittering on rubbish in a street.” See:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/denise-levertov 

 

—“Denise Levertov: 1923–1997,” Poetry Foundation

Denise Levertov is not as famous as the four preceding poets. A quality biography is available here:

https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/denise-levertov 

 

—“Denise Levertov: 1923–1997,” poets.org