Five Bells (Kenneth Slessor, 1939)
I heard this poem for the first time on Radio National yesterday while driving back to Melbourne after spending Mother's Day weekend with mum and family. The poem is stunning -- haunting, tragic and beautiful and as much as I wish to copy and post it here on my blog, I understand it to be under copyright to the Slessor family and to reprint it (as has been done on other websites) would be offensive to the poet's memory and his family.
The poem is available in Kenneth Slessors 'Collected Poems', published by Angus and Robertson, or it may be heard from the Radio National podcast for the next month or so.
The poem is melancholy, driven with grief, confusion, loss and despair. It is a confronting illustration of death, of the moments of dying and the dissillusioned haunting experienced by those left behind. To hear it read out loud, read properly by a speaker versed in the nuances of poetic rendition, is to experience its complete bleak glory. I consider it to be impossible for a listener to come away unaffected or unchanged.
I have no aspirations toward poetry, but quality literature has a degree of poetic union and poetic verse slants toward literary story telling. Where the line between the two blurs is where you'll find me, transfixed, entranced, bewitched by the wonderment of words.
Tuesday 13 May 2008
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1 comment:
It's a good poem but I've been writing some better poems like this one:
I met a young child beside a dead pony,
I met a white man who walked a black dog,
I met a young woman whose body was burning,
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,
I met one man who was wounded in love,
I met another man who was wounded with hatred,
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
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