No One Really Listens

[jisbell00]

No One Really Listens


If only words could do the job; and yet,
we know that’s not the case. If you go down
to Hammond, sing The Roches. It does not
really matter that we don’t know where
that is, or care. As the guitar unwinds,
the story slowly washes up across
our weary ears, and it is no surprise
to learn how little we can do. In my
opinion, you’re on the wrong track, they say.
How many times have we thought that? How many
friends have we seen make choices we can’t bless?

Now there are times words fail. We talk and talk,
and no one really listens. It’s as if
words settled into music in our mind –
to bare geometry, where every beat,
each tempo, each note on the scale transforms
our meaning into birdsong. If you go,
the sisters tell us, with that fella. And
the addressee replies; it’s not as though
there is no conversation. There’s a choir
of voices hitting every word, until
the singing stops – the music’s at an end.


The Hammond Song:


 

[Macavity]

Some interesting ruminations John. Especially the birdsong analogy. I confess I do just listen to the sounds on occasion, in conversation or poems, the meanings being familiar.

Cheers

Phil

[jisbell00]

Hi Phil,

There's an argument that phatic speech performs much the same function as grooming in other primates: "It's lovely today, isn't it? - Yes, a lovely day!" And I think ti's good to be reminded of that.

Thanks for dropping by, glad you liked the poem and picked up on this detail.

Cheers,
John