Prompt for 9/6/13: On August 30, the world mourned the death of Seamus Heaney, one of our most accomplished and beloved poets. One of his many skills as a writer was his use of sound in poetry. Heaney’s “The Rain Stick” is one of my favorite poems; in fact, I’ve read it in public so often that I’ve got it memorized. I particularly love the lines “You stand there like a pipe / Being played by water” and “You are like a rich man entering heaven / through the ear of a raindrop.” The Rain Stick by Seamus Heaney Up-end the rain stick and what happens next Is a music that you never would have known To listen for. In a cactus stalk Downpour, sluice-rush, spillage and backwash Come flowing through. You stand there like a pipe Being played by water, you shake it again lightly And diminuendo runs through all its scales Like a gutter stopping trickling. And now here comes A sprinkle of drops out of the freshened leaves, Then subtle little wets off grass and daisies; Then glitter-drizzle, almost-breaths of air. Up-end the stick again. What happens next Is undiminished for having happened once. Twice, ten, a thousand times before. Who cares if the music that transpires Is the fall of grit or dry seeds through a cactus? You are like a rich man entering heaven Through the ear of a shower. Listen now again. I love the musicality of this poem, and how I instantly hear the “sprinkle of drops out of the freshened leaves,” and how I get the joke that this dry thing, this cactus stalk, makes a sound exactly like rain. As soon as I read this poem, I wished I had written it. I’ve read it for audiences, for friends, for my father when he was far gone into dementia, for my husband, and to my children. Describing sound is not an easy task in poetry. Beyond “loud” and “soft,” we have a universe of noises, but selecting the ones that best fit can make or break a poem. A few more examples from Heaney: “Declensions sang on the air like a hosanna” (“Alphabets”); “The pump’s whooping cough, the bucket’s clatter” (“A Drink of Water”); “My serenades have been / The broken voice of a crow” (“Serenades”). Go out and listen today. Write down what you hear. Think of Ireland, with its haunting music and its poetry. What is the sound of loss? What did it sound like when you heard that Seamus Heaney had died?
Posted on: Fri, 06 Sep 2013 15:33:30 +0000
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