Force Of Lightning Poem by Daniel Brick
Force Of Lightning
There is lightning striking the edge
of things, out beyond the homes,
beyond the municipal buildings, even
beyond a few hideouts. Some among us
feel sheltered in our community, as if
some power were diverting lightning
from our homes and lives....
Neighboring villages do not share
our good fortune. They cluster together
in concentric circles around our center,
and every summer collapse in flames.
But habit or tradition compel them,
and so countless defeated residents
return after each attack and rebuild.
We offer what help we can: wood planks,
bricks, carpenters' tools, diagrams,
even photographs in vivid colors of
finished buildings, showing how to space
them within a grid design of an ideal
community. What role lightning will play
in such idealism is an unanswered question.
I have grown prosperous, my wealth
accelerates each year. And I wonder
in idle moments why happiness is my birth-
right. Or mostly so. I lost my first-born
son to an infant fever, twin daughters infected
each other with contagion. My wife agreed to
mercy killing one year into cancer treatment.
Death is a solution nature presents typically
with her blank expression: neither sympathy
nor scorn. But it has not been my tragic
destiny! Pay close attention to what I say:
unless my flesh is scorched and scarred,
unless my bones dissolve into dust, unless
my innards gasp in chronic pain, it is
not my tragic destiny. I witness such
things like an alternative nature, and
like nature, I am solemn, poised, confident
of the long term, dismissive of the short
term. What is tragedy but an avenue into
the interior where we do not belong.
There it is a welter of excess energy, cross-
purposes, disappointments too painful to gaze
upon. Block that avenue with your mind. Turn
you back on it, and close your eyes tightly.
Let nature with those depths in her own way.
And those writers so in love with tragic destiny
- Sophocles, Euripides, Shakespeare, Racine -
trash their texts! Living surpasses them.
My composure is all-important. You know,
that's the trouble with saints. They fuss over
sick people, and tell them in steady voices,
'I am here. I will suffer with you'. But the sick
person hears, 'I am here. I will suffer for you'.
What false hopes they engender! Why do they deny
nature's will? They are all sentimentalists:
Soon enough they will be leaning forward,
whispering, 'I know that Goodness watches over
you, and Love embraces you with her healing hands.
Let us pray together.' What cheating false hopes!
They expect impossible things: a miracle, a guardian
capable of perfect love, a deus ex machina. I would
rather fall silent for the rest of my life.
Pah! What false hopes they pour over our heads
like a ritual oil, as if they could change reality
by good will. I know better: I pay witness to
the dark angels. I want lightning to descend
and burn me to oblivion before I surrender
to hope. I know what we are - creatures of mud!
Let lightning strike me as it will....
What an interesting monologue! Today, I decided to randomly read one of your older poems just for fun and this is the one that popped up. Nihilism! I very well could see this poem recited on stage. Is the speaker angry or is he just an archetypal character with no hope? You ask in your note, 'what are the emotional consequences of such a world view? ' From this monologue I detect anger, disdain, zeal, suspicion, and a touch of sadness, maybe. It was interesting how the poem progressed from the beginning, telling a story about lightening striking, and of helping villagers to rebuild....this to me was a somewhat nihilistic expression of spirituality and even of hope. They keep rebuilding and the more prosperous people keep helping them out. Hmmmmmm. But then the monologue goes deeper and the emotions start to build as the negative experiences at first saved for the unfortunate, also afflict the wealthy speaker....dead children, dead wife....Then the speaker again separates himself from humanity, as if he is just the mere observer...watching things happen as they will. However, despite this supposed attachment the language changes, the fervor increases, and the emotions emerge. An interesting exercise!
I enjoy greatly your zest for what is and flowing with it your well-painted descriptions are alway a nice vehicle. Thank for where it takes me
Dear Daniel! such a sad poem, describung the pain of your family! But to get oblivion - you don't need lightning! and Healing - is not the aim and the purpose of our prayers to God. Healing - is in His will. And our aim - to accept His wiil. to make our ego-will to entwine with His true Will that loves and knows us more than we do! I wanted to cheer you up a little by this comment!
Great personification of death it is unusual for death to be identified as a woman. Also personification of goodness as a goddess of light, to me you captured these two personalities very well. A good poem through and through. Thank you for sharing ES
Refusal of hope is in itself an unspiritual force of human nature, it cannot by it's innate nature intervene in worldly and human affairs because of this. There is no emotion or consequences of emotion in something that has nothing to offer humanity. Very interesting and thought provoking interpretation you have exhibited in this poem. Thank you Daniel for another extraordinary poem of contemplative insight. RoseAnn
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 10:33:21 AM # 1.0.0.1119
your ''finale'' translated into Italian: I want lightning to descend and burn me to oblivion before I surrender to hope. I know what we are - creatures of mud! Let lightning strike me as it will.... Voglio che il fulmine mi colga e mi dissolva nell'oblio prima ch'io mi arrenda alla speranza. So quello che siamo - creature di fango! Che un fulmine mi colpisca, allora, e sia quel che sia..