they are whispering to me,
imploring me to return,
taunting
me because I can’t.
Start with the first line. We
have 'they' which might be referring to the rock, stone and/or silt; however,
for this metaphor to work, there must be a subject driving these objects
onwards, such as water or wind, to create a rationalization of a rock
'whispering'. Wind might seem more likely, because of the exploration of
whether 'rock' is being employed as a noun or a verb. However, the beauty of
poetry is that the verb and the noun can both be present, really. We interpret
as we read, constantly, and in our interpretations, we are bound to discover
things we didn't know. Things perhaps we didn't even want to know. Does this
not happen in life, too?
This they is ‘imploring’ and ‘taunting’. The
imploration is to return. Naturally the reader will ask: return where? Again the poem and the narrator are aware of more
than the reader. In poetry, fiction, films, there might be a big reveal towards
the end. Is the poem following suit? The final part of this stanza is the
crucial part. There has been a climb of speed, of tension and emotion.
Whispering. Consider the many times you’ve heard a whisper. The thin, eerie
whisper of the wind through a barely lit alleyway; the frail, gravelly whisper
of an old, dying person; what about, say, temptation. The deep, lustful whisper
of a calling lover. What happens when they try to become a little more
persuasive? While whispering, they are imploring.
The narrator is being called to return. Yet, whether or not the narrator
desires to return, he, she or it declares I
can’t. A heavy ask, admitting incapability. With it, the threat of
humiliation. Can’t. Not won’t, for that is different; it implies
that the capability to act might exist, but is refrained from nevertheless. Can’t.
That’s the word we, all of us, don’t want to know about. A society-wide taboo.
Sensitive beings, humans. Easily embarrassed, more easily upset. Agreed? In
your mind, answer these questions. Have you ever been given a job by a parent,
teacher, employer, and not known quite what to do? Have you been given
instructions and, following them, accidentally got a part wrong? Forgotten to
complete something in the right order, broken a piece of the puzzle? Have you
then had to tell your parent, teacher, employer, that you have messed up? The
guilt bubbling inside you, desperate to break out? Your stomach knotting for
fear of the consequences, despite the consequences themselves being unknown?
Falling short of expectation is frequently perceived to be failure, and many
people fear failure.
However.
Getting something wholly wrong is one thing…what about pure incapability? Can’t.
It reverberates back through the stanza. Whoever and whatever are imploring the
narrator to return, and to wherever…these things barely matter, for it cannot
be achieved regardless.
Thus, the
humiliation; the taunting.
Left more to my thoughts
now,
invaded by the slaughtering
juggernauts:
Anger and Jealousy, they
feed their
In this first line alone, the curtain is sliced back a
little more than it has been so far. Solitude and cognizance have slipped
through the elliptical net, and the stanza has a feeling of thought and
coherency. The narrator reveals they are left to their thoughts. However, these
thoughts remain secreted from the reader. The second line, beginning with invaded, reinforces the refulgence and
importance of the word ‘thoughts’ in this stanza. Ever been overwhelmed by your
own thoughts? Why? The words invaded,
slaughtering, juggernauts are not necessarily words that can be found in
everyday jargon if one goes to the shop or passes a neighbour in the street
(unless, of course, you live somewhere subjugated by juggernauts). They are
powerful, aggressive words, yet they have a feel of sophistication,
nonetheless. When something is outside of ubiquitous use, it is more jarring.
All three words are packed into the same line; striking outwards. Longer than the
previous lines of the poem, ending with juggernauts.
The line itself is a juggernaut. Pervasive and unwanted in its presence on the
page.
Imagine
a scenario where this poem is read aloud, and the audience have no written copy
in sight. The slaughtering juggernauts, Anger and Jealousy, feed—
The
poem reads ‘their’. However, orally and acoustically, one might hear the word ‘there’.
And without the enjambment, it would suggest that the metaphor goes on a
different track, with Anger and Jealousy feeding on the narrator’s thoughts.
The thoughts becoming so vast and tangled that they are both a landscape and a
carcase to be devoured. Consider. That every thought one might have, is fed on
by two ugly emotions. Two emotions bound up in corruption and darkness. The
corruption of the soul. To be jealous can often mean to be angry. What provokes
jealousy? The absence of ownership of something which somebody else has? What
has happened to the narrator? That, there, is the big question.
vigour through my absences,
as I
shuffle on this swaying
beech,
infected with rot and decay.
The narrator is in a place of solitude, and the
solitude is symbolized by the secrecy of the thoughts, yet the reader is
invited there, increment by increment, via the small revelations (shuffling,
swaying beech, rot and decay). We are shown that it is a pernicious solitude. A
festering solitude that the narrator, suggested by the "feed"-ing of
Anger and Jealousy, is succumbing to.
There
are absences. Absences which feed the vigour of Anger and Jealousy. What
absences are these? Still the questions pile up, unanswered. And more questions.
The narrator shuffles; does this
diminish the chance of the narrator being human? Why would a human being
shuffle? It is an animation we wouldn’t normally associate with human legs. An
animal, perhaps? An inanimate object?
Beech, the type of wood,
rather than a beach, sways. The beach is not mentioned yet ever persists,
described through the waves and the rock and the silts. What then, is this
swaying beech, infected with rot and decay?
Next part: next week.
S.C.
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