Whisper your twelve decibels of love
to drown the heavy traffic's ninety-four.
Not for me the seven score
of jet or heavy metal
(though some love these
when thresholds ease
as hearts recalibrate their scales).
Outside is only amplitude
the loudness lies within
where pain and impercipience
define its narrow range.
A subtle change
of pressures in the air
frets through the fine combs of the ear
and makes no greater stir
than would a wayward lock of hair.
This is the aural frontier
where medium and creature meet,
where comb and hair in silence
turn base configurations into sound -
perhaps the most disfigured sounds on earth,
or Graham's 'one good sound',
the music nature makes occurring.
So now a reservation as I find myself preferring
even megadecibels (in patterned regularity)
to any soft dishelvelment of noise.
I will not hear the scream Munch heard,
so magnify for me the sound of birds
and cherish above all,
the sound of love.
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12 comments:
excellent poem Mr King - heartfelt,musical, scientific, poetic - it pushes all the buttons!
and the secret word is 'flovab', which somehow seems appropriate
ps have you read David Lodge's Deaf Sentence?
Isabel
Hi! Thanks for those comments. No, I confess I haven't read "Deaf Sentence", but if it's by David Lodge I obviously ought to!
Ah Dave, it's good to be back here with your incredible poesy!
This wonderful poem makes me think, and feel, of capacity, how we are wired differently, each of us, but we can be open in all the senses to the new and "other."
Those last three lines just send me:
so magnify for me the sound of birds
and cherish above all,
the sound of love.
A wonderful subject to write about and once again you find such a great way to describe that.
I hate heavy metal. It affronts my ears. I have very good friends who have great taste in music who love it though, so I respect it as an art form. I loved this poem...it was even better when I read it from the bottom stanza up to the first.
The sounds of nature are quite musical, Dave, quite beautifully put.
Pamela
EARPLUGS
They open up the noise inside,
a grinding, transparent and sharp,
a sound
that can tear you apart.
A god’s belly
with red walls, too alive.
The hole of your identity,
its silence
and howl, amplified.
An ocean exploding
with the wings of a bird,
a sky just sensed
that must remain unheard.
This old poem of mine maybe can talk with this latest of yours which I have thoroughly enjoyed.
I like the whisper in your tone.
This is wonderful poem, Dave!
Your writing is truly inspiring :)
Take Care
Marinela
Short Poems
Ruth
Great to have you back visiting and commenting. As always, a most useful comment. Thanks for it.
Gerry
Really good of you to say so. Thanks.
Corinna
I got used to heavy metal when I worked for a while in an environment which included it. I ended up liking some, but not really a fan.
Pamela
They are, but it's Graham who should get the credit for the phrase. Thanks for your response.
Tommaso
Indeed, I can imagine those two poems chatting away over the garden wall, nineteen to the dozen! Much thanks for it.
Sailor
Nicely put. I like it!
Alliteration Poems
Welcome to the blog and grateful thanks for troubling to comment. Good to have you visiting, Marinela.
A subtle change
of pressures in the air
frets through the fine combs of the ear
and makes no greater stir
than would a wayward lock of hair.
Alamost the sound of silence...
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