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Emptiness
“There’s emptiness and then there’s emptiness,”
the wise old voice inside me sighing said
(and maybe not so wise as old, I’d guess):
the emptiness that sits like something dead
and leaden just behind your heart and bred
there by a life too silly and too sad
and maybe (I would guess again) too mad.
And then again there’s emptiness of quite
another sort: not stuck behind the heart
at all but wafting, weaving, strangely light,
a purity that’s been there from the start
whose sweetness in the soul the sense imparts
that God again is at his crazy game
where emptiness and fullness are the same.
.
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Song. On May (New York) Morning
after Milton’s Song. On May Morning (below)
Comes now a light too soft for garbage trucks
And somewhere off a car alarm that sucks
The stillness from the air, its morning cough
Propelling pigeons dustily aloft.
And yet it’s May, whose only noise
Is in the stems of flowers poised,
In cooing buds of yellow-green
And all of Nature’s sweet obscene.
And something in us hears it, good and true,
But first we have a million things to do.
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Song on May Morning
by John Milton (1608-1674)
Now the bright morning Star, Dayes harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The Flowry May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.
Hail bounteous May that dost inspire
Mirth and youth, and warm desire,
Woods and Groves, are of thy dressing,
Hill and Dale, doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early Song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
.
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Jeffrey Essmann is an essayist and poet living in New York. His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and literary journals, among them Agape Review, America Magazine, Dappled Things, the St. Austin Review, U.S. Catholic, Grand Little Things, Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, and various venues of the Benedictine monastery with which he is an oblate. He is editor of the Catholic Poetry Room page on the Integrated Catholic Life website.
Lovely poems…Thanks for gift of poems
Dear Jeffery —
Love the philosophic bent o f the first poem, but the one which describes May in New York really speaks to me. When living there, I remained angry May through August at the way plants were mistreated, denigrated, ignored. There were so few trees, and most other plantings were largely ignored.
Now I live in a small town where trees are sometimes your enemies Could this be another of God’s little jokes? In any case, you are a fine poet — those other guys are, too !
Thanks for everyithing.
“Emptiness” is very thought-provoking, and the reader feels, viscerally, the contrast of the melancholy tone of the first verse and the hopefulness and lightness of the second. I love the last two lines, about God’s “crazy game”. And, speaking of contrast, I imagine Milton would be fascinated with your “Song on May (New York) Morning.” You’ve found a way to put garbage trucks and “a million things to do” into a poem and make it beautiful. A car alarm that “sucks the stillness from the air” is an especially wonderful description.
I’m with Cynthia: ‘…a car alarm that sucks / The stillness from the air…’ is a wonderful image.
I enjoyed all three, Jeffrey. ‘Emptiness’ speaks so true, and the ‘May’ poems are very expressive of the Mays I remember in England.
Thanks for the reads.
“Emptiness” uses well the unusual form of rhyme royal sonnet, where the turn happens exactly halfway through. And while the final couplet is effectively conclusive, it links also back to the earlier stanza with “crazy” as a synonym for “mad.” But with a certain madness attributed to God, emptiness takes on meaning and light. Thoughtful work, Jeffrey.
Sight – and sound. On A May New York creates images that suddenly spring to life. These lines cut right through all the noise— in silence.
‘And yet it’s May, whose only noise
Is in the stems of flowers poised,
In cooing buds of yellow-green
And all of Nature’s sweet obscene.’
Excellent, Jeffrey. The thoughts behind the words are as clear as cathedral bells and as deep as a well tapped into a chthonic aquifer.
God’s “crazy game” (crazy but infinitely, craftily, beautiful) and Nature’s “sweet obscene” (obscene but always innocent).
I like it.