Three More Poems about Silence – Analysis and Commentary

Fourth post in the series:

https://poetryofgonzalinhodacosta.blogspot.com/2019/01/twenty-poems-about-silence-4-of-4.html

I would describe these poems as “Honorable Mentions.” They didn’t make my top twenty best poems about silence, but they are too good not to be featured on my blog.

THE LISTENERS by Walter de la Mare

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,  

   Knocking on the moonlit door;

And his horse in the silence champed the grasses  

   Of the forest’s ferny floor:

And a bird flew up out of the turret,  

   Above the Traveller’s head:

And he smote upon the door again a second time;  

   ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.

But no one descended to the Traveller;  

   No head from the leaf-fringed sill

Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,  

   Where he stood perplexed and still.

But only a host of phantom listeners  

   That dwelt in the lone house then

Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight  

   To that voice from the world of men:

Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,  

   That goes down to the empty hall,

Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken  

   By the lonely Traveller’s call.

And he felt in his heart their strangeness,  

   Their stillness answering his cry,

While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,  

   ’Neath the starred and leafy sky;

For he suddenly smote on the door, even  

   Louder, and lifted his head:—

‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,  

   That I kept my word,’ he said.

Never the least stir made the listeners,  

   Though every word he spake

Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house  

   From the one man left awake:

Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,  

   And the sound of iron on stone,

And how the silence surged softly backward,

   When the plunging hoofs were gone.

Never the least stir made the listeners...

See: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47546/the-listeners

A famous poem written in traditional style, with regular rhyme and meter—sustained, the narrative gradually, almost imperceptibly draws the reader into a mystery, phantom listeners who remain silent, unresponsive to the fraught, mystified entreaties of a solitary traveler. Tight, compelling, haunting, the story displays a satisfying aesthetic unity.

SILENCE by Edgar Lee Masters

   I have known the silence of the stars and of the sea,          

And the silence of the city when it pauses,       

And the silence of a man and a maid,    

And the silence for which music alone finds the word,          

And the silence of the woods before the winds of spring begin,                

And the silence of the sick           

When their eyes roam about the room. 

And I ask: For the depths

Of what use is language? 

A beast of the field moans a few times     

When death takes its young.       

And we are voiceless in the presence of realities—    

We cannot speak.   

 

   A curious boy asks an old soldier        

Sitting in front of the grocery store,         

“How did you lose your leg?”        

And the old soldier is struck with silence,        

Or his mind flies away      

Because he cannot concentrate it on Gettysburg.      

It comes back jocosely         

And he says, “A bear bit it off.”   

And the boy wonders, while the old soldier      

Dumbly, feebly lives over 

The flashes of guns, the thunder of cannon,    

The shrieks of the slain,     

And himself lying on the ground,           

And the hospital surgeons, the knives, 

And the long days in bed. 

But if he could describe it all       

He would be an artist.         

But if he were an artist there would be deeper wounds        

Which he could not describe.       

 

   There is the silence of a great hatred,

And the silence of a great love,   

And the silence of a deep peace of mind,             

And the silence of an embittered friendship,   

There is the silence of a spiritual crisis,

Through which your soul, exquisitely tortured,         

Comes with visions not to be uttered     

Into a realm of higher life.             

And the silence of the gods who understand each other without speech,  

There is the silence of defeat.      

There is the silence of those unjustly punished;         

And the silence of the dying whose hand         

Suddenly grips yours.         

There is the silence between father and son,   

When the father cannot explain his life,          

Even though he be misunderstood for it.          

 

   There is the silence that comes between husband and wife.         

There is the silence of those who have failed;    

And the vast silence that covers 

Broken nations and vanquished leaders.         

There is the silence of Lincoln,   

Thinking of the poverty of his youth.    

And the silence of Napoleon          

After Waterloo.       

And the silence of Jeanne d’Arc  

Saying amid the flames, “Blesséd Jesus”—      

Revealing in two words all sorrow, all hope.    

And there is the silence of age,     

Too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it     

In words intelligible to those who have not lived       

The great range of life.     

 

   And there is the silence of the dead.   

If we who are in life cannot speak            

Of profound experiences,  

Why do you marvel that the dead          

Do not tell you of death?   

Their silence shall be interpreted          

As we approach them.

Their silence shall be interpreted as we approach them.

See: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=13043

The strength of this poem lies in its power to provoke the reader into thoughtful reflection. Many, we observe, are the occasions of perturbing silence, and with insight the poet strings together a notably long list of them using language that is spare, elegant, ironical, and understated. It is a tour de force that ends, appropriately enough, by remarking on the silence of death.

TAHIMIK ni Rofel G. Brion

Mananahimik ako

nang makapiling kita

at marinig ang iyong salita

sa hihip ng hangin

tikatik ng ulan

talilis ng alakdan sa damo

igkas ng sangang binitiwan ng bunga

ingit ng bakal sa kumikiskis na bato

maging sa hapdi ng sikat ng araw

at lamig ng sinag ng buwan

nang mahiwatigan ko

mabanaag

ang loob mo.

SILENCE by Rofel G. Brion

Original language Tagalog

Translated by Gonzalinho da Costa

I am quieted

when you are near

and I hear you speak

in the mouth of the wind blowing

soft incessant rain

scorpion hiddenly escaping in the grass

sprung branch suddenly letting go of fruit

rasping of iron on stone

transforming in prickly sunshine

and chill moonlight         

when I delicately understand

iridescent

your inner heart.

...scorpion hiddenly escaping in the grass

This poem in Tagalog was originally published in Antig, Issue No. 14 (December 2012).

Translation was originally published in New Asian Writing (July 20, 2014).

The original Tagalog poem has a delightfully onomatopoeic quality. I have tried to translate the poem as literally as possible with just a touch of lyricism.

The poem describes a presence that communicates from the heart in silence and through sensate events pregnant with significance, permeated with meaning. What or who is this presence? Evidently, it is a spirit, and a good fit for the identity of this mysterious presence is the Jewish and Christian God:

“Then the Lord said, ‘Go outside and stand on the mountain before the Lord; the Lord will be passing by.’ A strong and heavy wind was rending the mountains and crushing rocks before the Lord—but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake—but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake there was fire—but the Lord was not in the fire. After the fire there was a tiny whispering sound. When he heard this, Elijah hid his face in his cloak and went and stood at the entrance of the cave.” (1 Kings 19:11-13)