“So Great a Silence”


“So Great the Veins of Silence”

So great the veins of silence on the streets in this year’s dying
Days; a fresh upon fresh blanket of winter’s dews shrouding
Trees and sidewalks, weighting rooftops, goading gables. Clouding
Clotted skies both day and night show no respite. Incense of Abraxas plowing
Down liturgical calendars, disguised, the last uncertain week of this last
Uncertain year; there’ll be no other.  The funeral’s banquet’s not yet finished,
But come now impertinence in  wedding caterers as the neo-looming skittish
Markets address themselves to not so certain promises profit, and as the past
May be the mirror of the future, Hamlet’s wondering
At his own wonder in the thought so universally voiced,
“Can we really stand another year with the same old invoice?”
That it should come to this! Denial’s simple rites, the blundering,
Sundering ties to all that virtue knows in favour of what is known, flaunted
ignorance of both at once even to the gates of Pergamos and Ephesus:
Have John’s missives not arrived?
Are there no prisons, and still no workhouses?

 

6 responses to ““So Great a Silence”

  1. Wonderful…

    Especially: “the blundering,
    Sundering ties to all that virtue knows in favour of what is known”

  2. “…veins of silence on the streets…” : a powerful metaphor!

    • How do you interpret this metaphor? I have my own thoughts on it, but would love to hear other ideas. Peace this year to you! (isn’t Once amazing!… I love him so much~!)

      • Hello, I also wish you peace and a year full of inner light.

        Once explained what he meant in his “veins of silence” metaphor.

        What I particularly like and find beautiful in his first verse, is the contrast between what “vein” usually means to us (blood,warmth,circulation,communication,movement,life…) and the word “silence” (immobilism,speechlessness,quelling, or even death -more so in the context :”dying”, “shroud”).

        I also like the visual coherence of the verse (one could imagine streets to be veins-the city’s veins- as well).
        It is all about death in the end, about non-communication, about immobilism.

        There are also peaceful, fructuous silences: another wish to all for this new year!

        Lou

  3. You amaze me as always, dear! Your words touch the soul and alight the mind 🙂 Merry Christmas! You are one of my favorite writers. Peace, Joy, Health and Goodness to you and all of yours this year to come.

    • You are so kind, and I was happy to see that name and picture again. I rarely ever get back to Stumbleupon since it somehow managed to shed the many who enjoyed it so much. And, of course, speaking of “veins of silence,” it seems that evidences of its potent poison are everywhere apparent, in government, in the daily certainty of uncertainty that meets the ears with every turn of every event so egregiously delivered at apparently any hour of the day concerning this act of dishonesty, or that admission, “The funeral’s banquet’s not yet finished,
      But come now impertinence in wedding caterers as the neo-looming skittish Markets address themselves to not so certain promises profit” it seems at any rate. There is and there is no precedent for what we witness daily in these wintry days. Even in defeat, it seems the public celebrates; in every disappointment, there lurks a defining reason. Somehow, it seems, we continue to live. Yes, I am still here, and while it is a little more cumbersome to post my sonnets than it was, still, I do it whenever I can and continue to do so with the same wonder and enjoyment I had when it first began in 2005, by accident, when once I had stumbled upon Stumbleupon.

      That it should come to this! The silences of truth roar more loudly than battalions of lies insofar as if a man has eyes, he sees; if ears, he hears, if possessing neither, of course there is the illusion that the world is some kind of oyster that may, just may produce a pearl or two. If not, then at least one can down the oyster. It’s snowing here on this Christmas Day, and only seemed to snow the other day when I posted that poem. The metaphor, at least in physical terms, was confirmed today when to my surprise, I got up and found the entire world had been washed as white as snow. In the meantime, I have to admit I wonder my at my continued wonder at the impertinence of events and their peoples. In the end, of course, Van Morrison expressed something of a truth in his lyric: “It ain’t ‘why?’ it just is.” Win or lose, when it comes to the sun, we can be certain that no matter what the pattern of clouds and weather on the darkest day, that sun is most certainly right where it ought to be and doing what it always has. I was in Showboat once upon a time in high school. I played Old Joe and I remember my own stunning reaction to the audiences reaction to my singing, “I gets weary, and sick a tryin’, the clothes I love in are clothes I’ll die in, but ‘Ol Man River, he just keeps rollin’ along.” For those who say things never change, I admit, the truth never does; with everything else, the silence in the veins of mankind performs as surely as blood to the body, and, again, from where I sit, no matter what the blanket, the snows of Minnesota or whatever it was that apparently covered everything in every day at Auschwitz, no one need worry about the end of the world in coming year.

      The very best to you, my friend at Christmas and in the coming New Year! I have returned from time to time to your Stumbleupon site and think on the excellence of your work that apparently grows in time, and you, too, have evidently begun again….

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