When in Rome – get used to it

Gold cherry

By Parson Thru

Fri, 19 Feb 2016
  • 2869 reads
15 comments
 
From roof to roof
Street to street
Woman to man, they shout
 
Down corridors
And telephones
Face to face, they holler-out
 
So gregarious
And sociable, outgoing
I wonder if it’s me who’s antisocial, mean
 
But don’t they ever yearn to be alone?
No need of quiet?
Do they even have a word for peace?
 
No silent night
No prima facie need of rest
They appear not to sleep
 
I find myself exhausted
By the hours that they keep
 
In honesty,
It’s not so different from my youth
 
Voices, asserting their right to be heard
At walls and empty halls,
 
Calling me downstairs
From the subversion of my solitude
From books and headphones
Keeping out of sight
 
Unhealthy, apparently
 
Maybe
 
But the difference is
We slept at night
Certificate U
Poem
Travel

Comments

Submitted by tcook on

The reason Italians shout and gesticulate a lot is because there is no way for them to ask a question in their language. It is all done by intonation. Are you going to the zoo? is You Are Going To The Zoo - upwards inflection, big shrug, wave of arms. It's what makes them the wonderful people they are.

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Hi Tony.  And wonderful people they are, too.  As are the very gregarious Spaniards.  I feel a pang of guilt even holding this small grudge (sleepless nights).  Thanks so much for reading and the pick!

Parson Thru

Submitted by london_calling79 on

No need to sleep at night when you can siesta during the day! I loved the nighttime culture when I was younger, Britain seemed so sterile. But I must admit a bit of peace and quiet on occasion is much needed. Well captured here.

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Thanks london_calling.  I've had to fit in the odd siesta this week to keep going. I wish I had the energy to keep up at night.  Some tired-looking people, mind, on the morning Metro.

Parson Thru

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Very energetic, sounds exhausting.

Submitted by Parson Thru on

It can be, Philip. Siesta is a serious business.

Parson Thru

Submitted by tcook on

This excellent poem is our Pick of the Day.

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Submitted by Parson Thru on

Wow! Thank you Tony.

Parson Thru

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

What a good pick. There you go parsons - makes up for the lack of sleep!

 

Submitted by jeand on

Hi Parson

I enjoyed reading this and could identify with how you were feeling.

Jean

Jean Day

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Job done! Thanks jeand.

Parson Thru

Submitted by Bee on

I was always accused of being antisocial as a child, and until I left home - always in my room, reading, or playing my guitar, while everyone downstairs squabbled whilst watching tv. But as you say, they slept at night. 

I love the way your poem passes the noise along a line of scenery, making it so easy to hear and visualise. There's something suitably operatic about it, until it folds tidily into your need for rest, comparing the activity around you to your own busy family life, - finding understanding, yet still astonished at the ability to go on into the night. I think siestas are great. They should incorporate one into the average working day. 

Bee

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Vote "Siesta" on 23 June!

Hi Bee. Our "disease", eh? Is it too much to ask for peace? It often seems so. But, like my parents, people here seem open and gregarious. To a point, as with "home". Some of us have an inner-voice we want to hear, others don't want to hear it. I remember studying Hans Eysenck. He had it pretty-much nailed. I was thinking only an hour ago about similarities between the people in this town and in the town of my birth. Strangers always ready to share a moment and a lusty laugh. And why not? That sort of thing could result in the communication (ha ha!) cord being pulled on the London Underground.

Thank you so much for your thoughtful analysis. Lovely to read over a sandwich caliente and coffee. x

Parson Thru

Submitted by celticman on

no need to sleep at night, if you're a papal knight and some poor minon in hell is always tolling a bell. 

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

And leafing through a catalogue of dreams, we find that nothing in the night is as it seems.

Hi celt.

Parson Thru