lunedì 16 novembre 2015

piccola pausa silenziosa

   I have known the silence of the stars and of the sea,
  And the silence of the city when it pauses,
  And the silence of a man and a maid,
  And the silence for which music alone finds the word,
  And the silence of the woods before the winds of spring begin,
  And the silence of the sick
  When their eyes roam about the room.
  And I ask: For the depths
  Of what use is language?
  A beast of the field moans a few times
  When death takes its young:
  And we are voiceless in the presence of realities--
  We cannot speak.

    A curious boy asks an old soldier
  Sitting in front of the grocery store,
  "How did you lose your leg?"
  And the old soldier is struck with silence,
  Or his mind flies away,
  Because he cannot concentrate it on Gettysburg.
  It comes back jocosely
  And he says, "A bear bit it off."
  And the boy wonders, while the old soldier
  Dumbly, feebly lives over
  The flashes of guns, the thunder of cannon,
  The shrieks of the slain,
  And himself lying on the ground,
  And the hospital surgeons, the knives,
  And the long days in bed.
  But if he could describe it all
  He would be an artist.
  But if he were an artist there would be deeper wounds
  Which he could not describe.

    There is the silence of a great hatred,
  And the silence of a great love,
  And the silence of a deep peace of mind,
  And the silence of an embittered friendship.
  There is the silence of a spiritual crisis,
  Through which your soul, exquisitely tortured,
  Comes with visions not to be uttered
  Into a realm of higher life.
  And the silence of the gods who understand each other without speech.
  There is the silence of defeat.
  There is the silence of those unjustly punished;
  And the silence of the dying whose hand
  Suddenly grips yours.
  There is the silence between father and son,
  When the father cannot explain his life,
  Even though he be misunderstood for it.

    There is the silence that comes between husband and wife.
  There is the silence of those who have failed;
  And the vast silence that covers
  Broken nations and vanquished leaders.
  There is the silence of Lincoln,
  Thinking of the poverty of his youth.
  And the silence of Napoleon
  After Waterloo.
  And the silence of Jeanne d'Arc
  Saying amid the flames, "Blessed Jesus"--
  Revealing in two words all sorrow, all hope.
  And there is the silence of age,
  Too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it
  In words intelligible to those who have not lived
  The great range of life.

    And there is the silence of the dead.
  If we who are in life cannot speak
  Of profound experiences,
  Why do you marvel that the dead
  Do not tell you of death?
  Their silence shall be interpreted
  As we approach them.

da Edgar Lee Masters, Songs and satires, 1916