Eternal Silence

When I was a child, I made a cannon out of a lipstick tube         
mounted on a wooden carriage, stuffed it with gunpowder
from a penny banger and fired a volley of nails at the shed door,
and I believed the noise I made had ascended into heaven.

 

Many years later, I wrote a poem about children shrieking
in a playground; I had their shrieks splashing round
the towering cliffs of sky whereas I should have had
them petering out at the cordon of spectating houses.

 

For I believed sound travelled through the Earth's

atmosphere and carried on forever into deepest space,

so eventually someone would hear our prayers

and send succour, except it has not happened yet.

 

In fact, it doesn't happen, I was wrong to believe it.

Sound does not travel past the Earth's atmosphere,

so no-one hears our voices at the far end of belief.

 

But all is not lost, after aeons of terror, such as Pascal's,
of the eternal silence of the infinite expanses of space,
for there are indeed sounds of buzzing activity emanating

 

from millions of celestial bodies, noises hurtling through

the vacuum, captured as radio waves to be deciphered

for believers to latch onto and turn into winsome stories.

 

*

Reviews

[Eilis]

I remember we talked about the space noise on another poem of yours. This poem offers something quite interesting in line with that idea. The prospect of belief having something to cling to perhaps. Or maybe it's the idea that there's always something we don't know, so maybe we can just go on in that frame of mind. And accept that we don't know.

There aren't answers back. No voices pushing back against our prayers. But there is this infinity--the unfathomable things that exist alongside of us and keep surprising us. Space itself-- the ever-expanding--seeming to represent that. What do these things mean? Surely more than we can understand and more than we allow them credit for. I suppose our largest need is to categorize and understand. To have our bearings. Or, to feel we know what we are seeing and experiencing.

Like the child, people once reveled in the wonder of the unknown or marveled at the natural order. We have become somewhat more jaded as humanity has evolved into a force, but perhaps there is still room for that spirit in us.

I like the way your poem goes back and forth between the idea of nothing and something. Of emptiness and fullness. The child's imagination makes all things feel significant and possible. We could use some of that spirit, but also, the tempered adult mind has an important place. It sees reality and follows the string of it. But, perhaps there's an in-between place. Somewhere out there among that space noise. A place where we might grow to understand the meaning and significance of silence.

This is a very thoughtful poem, Gerald. I like this style of contemplation that leads into a deeper idea. I may perhaps be creating my own meanings, but that is where the ideas took me. Enjoyed reading, as ever.

[Gerald Parker]

I think your commentary explores what I was thinking about in even greater depth. It makes interesting reading. I remember you mentioning having heard noises from deep space which is what made me wonder what people make of them, whether they attribute more to them than what they are - noises.
Thanks again, Eilis, for your insights.

[wordman]

just a different frequency,it never goes away