The Silence Poem by Wendell Berry

The Silence

Rating: 4.5

Though the air is full of singing
my head is loud
with the labor of words.

Though the season is rich
with fruit, my tongue
hungers for the sweet of speech.

Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say

'It is golden,' while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name.

It is in the silence
that my hope is, and my aim.
A song whose lines

I cannot make or sing
sounds men's silence
like a root. Let me say

and not mourn: the world
lives in the death of speech
and sings there.

Friday, April 24, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: silence
Susan Williams 07 February 2018

I had not read this poet before today- -I robbed myself of sitting at the feet of an extraordinary poet all this time. I shall remedy that error- -but surely he wrote more than 19 poems.

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Dutendra Chamling 22 November 2015

....I cannot make or sing sounds men's silence like a root.... Beautiful!

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Kelly Kurt 24 April 2015

Wow! I loved this poem, Wendell. Thanks for sharing

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Wendell Berry

Wendell Berry

Henry County, Kentucky
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