The Marking of the Bells

I knew when the bells were silenced
that it was finally done, as was I.
The snow fell furiously trying to cover
the ugliness only man can beset upon himself.

The memory of warm lips
brushed against my bluing ones
and I felt myself rise above the frost
but there was no lightness in my spirit.

Carillon splendor had marked the births and deaths
of everyone I had ever known, but no more...
it would die along with me and fall
into the dusty desolation of this place.

The sons of Adam had honed their weapons well ,
smashed the fruits of labors of all who had come before.
They had stolen the sweetest of sounds in a greedy grab for glory
and tossed it into the vacant winds of history.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

wow this is as deep as that snow the speaker is lying in at the end...as the final bells toll...and the bluing lips say their last goodbyes to those living and those dead....all who knew her.
and all she knew of them take their final breath with her.
and there is that "greedy grab for glory" perhaps we all do that at one time or another but then that gets "tossed into the vacant winds of history" as might the words we leave behind.
it could happen that way.

terrific poem, Anne.
one of my favorites here...

[icelandicblue]

Thank you so much jacob I truly appreciate your thoughts on the piece. Your interpretations are poetry in themselves.

[Rita L. Sev]

Finally getting to this one, and while I am sorry it took me so long, I think it is appropriate that I am reading this during the month of All Souls. Your words weave the worlds of living and dead, present and past, all that mankind has been, and lost... A deep and impressive poem, Blue.

[icelandicblue]

Thank you so much Rita. You are always so kind.

[James Hanna-Magill]

Dear icelandicblue

My first entry into reviewing for quite some time.

I have been away for a while. Time perhaps to get re-engaged.

You know I do reviews in many styles. Just take this one as it comes.

I'll keep it to three levels: Form, content and impact.

Form: You keep yourself to four quatrains with no rhyme. However that may be, in your words there remains a heartbeat, a steady beat of the drum that draws the reader in. There is something easy about the way in which you speak as if aloud/ about the pattern of words you lay down that seems very natural.

Perhaps we all need to speak our poetry aloud to check it works. This poem does. You keep your poem punctuated which gives it an ever greater sense of thought and poise. This is not rambling free verse, not that I am averse to it. This is deeper and more complex in its construction.

Content: This is a combination of the story (subject matter) and the words you use to tell it.

Form and content can often conflict. You know I have ben experimenting with the form and technique of Shakespeare sonnets recently, where the rules are very tight. I wonder in what I am doing there, I often simply sacrifice words and meaning to form.

In what you are doing here you maintain a greater balance between form and content.

The beauty of poetry though and it applies equally if you read any of Shakespeare's sonnets is that everything has double meanings. It always does.

Let's put it this way. There is the meaning or double meanings you may intend and there is the meaning / different meanings others will apply to it depending on their life history. And they can be as endless as there are human beings on the face of the planet.

I can try to imagine the meaning you paint in words for me. Therein lies part of the charm of poetry. Asking yourself 'What meaning has this for the writer in their own lives' and that is like an itch for the reader. You want to enter the poet's line of sight and see the world as he / she does but you simply can't.

The reader is left to find their own meaning(s) and appreciate the way in which the poet has 'messed' with their minds.

My take of your view in writing this poem... or your view of imagining mine in reading it?

Death, broken relationships, war or conflict of any type, past present and future, the pause between one view of the world and another, one moment or another, one breath and the next. Change!?

Whatever meaning I take from it and there are as many as you can imagine, in the end we all drown in the choice of words, their beauty that back up the meaning even to the point of obscuring it.

Things that struck me about your poem:

Bells 'ringing'. They often do for many reasons, happy or sad, including according to the Pogues 'ringing out for Christmas Day', though the general connotation of 'tolling' instead is often negative and about death. 'For whom the bell tolls.' Hemingway. He talked there about the Spanish Civil War, but leant on John Donne's metaphysical thoughts on health, pain and sickness. You 'ring' all and any of those 'bells' in this poem. Seriously, what else is life really about except for this range of differing sentiments?

Richness of language. 'Carillon' matches well your theme. I love that obscure word. And you plant it well in the middle.

The constant juxtaposition of opposites: 'silenced' ... 'furiously'; 'ugliness' ... 'splendour'; 'snow' ... 'warm'; 'lightness ... 'desolation'; 'births' ... 'deaths'; 'sweetest' ... 'vacant'.

Erotic / loving allusions: 'The memory of warm lip's.'

Your biblical allusions whatever their source: Adam and Eve, and their progeny, Cain and Abel. How many people either in writing, speech or belief have harked back to the Garden of Eden?

Impact: In the end, this is really the only thing that counts in the conversation between sole writer and reader. What impression did this piece of writing leave on me?

As good poetry may, maybe all good writing, it left me asking questions and feeling all the better off for having asked them in reading it.

My offering.

Well written!

Best wishes

James

[icelandicblue]

James,

How I have missed your exquisite reviews. I must thank you for the many images and language that you point out in this piece. I myself did not realize some of them. I am not so skilled that I plan them, it seems that I play poetry by ear. I appreciate the time you took with this and thank you for I am now looking at this poem anew.

Anne

[James Hanna-Magill]

Dear Anne

It was a pleasure reading this poem. As I say there was just something about it which made it attractive for me. I like as you may gather writing which makes me think and imagine worlds other than my own. This did.

We have reviewed each other much before in the past. It's nice to be back doing this. And as we know it is good to return the compliment of others reviews. You have paid me that compliment and it feels good returning it.

As for my writing Shakespearean sonnets, I have tried three, whether well written or not and I keep on coming back to them and endlessly editing them. So looking at things I write anew has become habit forming for me too.

I may move onto Keats, Shelley and Byron shortly after annoying Shakespeare profusely. The poor so and sos are all probably rolling in their graves whilst I try my hand at mimicking them badly! It's just something I want to do.

With a smile and my thanks

Best wishes as ever

James

[Anand Sehgal]

The last stanza had tremendous impact on me. Rich in content .---------------The sons of Adam had honed their weapons well ----

Do you think they knew how to use them ? just curious ! :)
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[icelandicblue]

Well they used them in the most destructive manner as weapons are often known to do. Thanks for the review.

[emmajoy]

Maybe tis the echoing of bells that announce the shadows of life. Perhaps. Your words flow in a kind of suspended dream... explicit and yet .. i don't know, perhaps calling people to gather round and take notice. Whether right or wrong, you're there, here.. presiding over something unknown yet relevant, so relevant.

Food for thought.. this writing, this beautiful writing.

[icelandicblue]

Bells connote so much meaning as does their silence. Thank you for such a beautifully crafted review. I appreciate your thoughts as you create meaning from the poem.

[emmajoy]

Mean every word.. your words pretty well blow me away...

[M.E.Lyle]

Yes, very deep indeed. It almost seems like a foreshadowing of man's undoing. And in the end, all will be tossed aside and float in the vacant winds of history.
I had to read this several times. OK, more than just several times. It's very dark and gloomy.
Very well done.

[icelandicblue]

It is dark indeed, thank you for reading and commenting.

[Sheila Kline]

Anne, I must ask you who are the sons of Adam and I will come back and review when I have your answer as you speak of "all who had come before". I first thought it was Adam of the Bible but I am not sure by your words that follow. It is profound in thought, but I need to know more to properly review it.
Thanks!

[icelandicblue]

The sons of Adam coined in the Chronicles of Narnia are men of the human race. Thank you so much for reading and commenting.

[Sheila Kline]

Ah, now I understand...........one of my son's favorite series! It makes sense to me now.....THANK YOU!!

[MomzillaNC]

Absolutely stunning…

As we survive and lose all those we knew and loved, even those we didn't love… like falling leaves in Autumn, the sense that all of them are lost when we pass finally, as the snow will finally pass when it melts. To think that all we knew… all we were will be replaced by strangers repeating the same timeless dance…

You captured all that in your lines.

[icelandicblue]

Thank you so much momzilla. I am happy that you could see the cycle we create for ourselves. New faces acting out the same story. Again, thank you for your kind review.

[MomzillaNC]

You're welcome.

[Beccy]

Remarkable and eloquent poem. As good as any I have read in my time. Nothing lasts forever and one day mankind will be no more than a memory lost to 'those vacant winds of time.'

Beccy.

[icelandicblue]

I thank you so much Beccy. I am pleased the poem spoke to you.

[Pete Langley]

The hardest part of the living being left by death - especially untimely death - is the part of self we lose as well.
As a member of this imperfect species of ours, I recognise why you wrote this, Anne. The homage we convey ( the bells et al ) is partly regret in a future we can no longer share.
Your poem shows the anger and frustration at " the ugliness only man can beset upon himself" A sad truth suberbly crafted. P.

[icelandicblue]

Pete! How wonderful to see you!! Thank you for your comment and I am afraid that you are right.

[Pete Langley]

Hi Anne. So glad some of the `good guys` are still around. I can`t post much stuff here, but I`ll try to hook up whenever I can. P.

[Bright Ocean Star]

Wow! What a powerful piece. I especially love the last stanza.
"The sons of Adam had honed their weapons well ,
smashed the fruits of labors of all who had come before.
They had stolen the sweetest of sounds in a greedy grab for glory
and tossed it into the vacant winds of history."

It is utterly glorious. I love reading your work. Thank you for letting us read this one.

[icelandicblue]

Thank you so much for such a beautiful review.