Silences

Looking through the books of my poetry I discovered a set of four poems on the subject of "silence". They are quite old, dating from around 1980, though I am not sure of exactly when I wrote them. The first one clearly refers to an office that I used to work in, in West Bromwich which puts it at approximately that period.

Silences

Part 1

Silence.
Early-morning, office-furniture,
Filing-cabinet silence.
Empty-chair silence.
The building still sleeps.
Distant disembodied voices -
Sounds without words -
Solitary empty voices
Fragile morning meanings.
Footsteps, Dragged chairs.
Cups rattling, blinds raised.
A rhythm of sound
Emerging
Sound without sight
Beyond obscuring office walls
Blurred by empty spaces.

A telephone screams,
And is silenced.

Part 2

There is noise all around you:
Voices raised in anger,
Traffic hissing through the rain,
The hum of air conditioning,
The rustling of the wind,
An orchestrated score of chaos.

There is noise all around you,
But silence in your head.

There is noise all around you:
Voices raised in laughter,
Telephones shrilly shrieking,
Chairs scraped on wooden floors,
Cash registers singing,
An orchestrated symphony.

There is noise all around you,
But silence in your head.


Part 3

There is silence hidden among the noise.
Do you hear it ?
Between the syllables, it lurks.
Between the cadences and rhythms,
Between the roaring guns it stands,
Between the clapping and the shouting.

There is silence hidden in among the noise:
Do you hear it ?
Just below the machines scream.
It waits below your speeches.
There behind the rampant rhetoric,
Wrapped around your meaning.

There is silence hidden in among the noise:
Do you hear it ?
Behind the party chatter it's smiling.
Behind champagne cork explosions, it's grinning.
Behind the bouncing music, it's laughing.
Silently lending meaning to the sounds.

Part 4

Silence like an open grave,
Silence like an empty room,
Silence like a missing friend,
Spits fear into your face.
Silence is the enemy,
Reeking of solitude and death,
Reeking of resignation,
And the cold hand
Catching at your skin.