Silence
My father used to say,
“Superior people never make long visits,
have to be shown Longfellow’s grave
nor the glass flowers at Harvard.
Self reliant like the cat –
that takes its prey to privacy,
the mouse’s limp tail hanging like a shoelace from its mouth –
they sometimes enjoy solitude,
and can be robbed of speech
by speech which has delighted them.
The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence;
not in silence, but restraint.”
Nor was he insincere in saying, “`Make my house your inn’.”
Inns are not residences.
Marianne Moore’s poet about silence makes sense in many ways. I have encountered many persons whose character is best reflected in their lack of words. Somewhat like being true in perfection, Why feel the need to share with others if you have already obtained it? Silence all too often is more dramatically understood than a bunch of rambling sentences that are meaningless. Similar to actions speak louder than words, someone who is ‘superior’ never have intentions of spending time alone, restraint for boisterous behavior. Those who yell and blabber to try to get their point across are far less wise than those literate few who are able to frankly or tersely respond. Her father’s response to making his house their inn would relate to the line in which he examined that ‘superior people never make long visits.’ People without long visits have somewhere to go, a destination. Reminds me of Mr. Darsey, soft spoken, and always appearing to have a better place to be.
Silence has that element of the unknown, the unexpected and the vast.
