hope

A bell diphthonging in an atmosphere

Of shying night air summons some to prayer

Down in the town, two deep lone miles from here,

Yet wallows faint or sudden everywhere,

In every ear, as if the twist wind wrung

Some ten years’ tangled echoes from the air. 

What kyries it says are mauled among

The queer elisions of the mist and murk,

Of lights and shapes; the senses were unstrung,

Except that one stars synecdochic smirk
Burns steadily to me, that nothing’s odd
And firm as ever is the masterwork. 

I weary of the confidence of God. 

Our amazing Humanities, Art&Architecture, and Poetry professor here in Rome assigns a specific poem to each of his students, and his way of choosing this specific poem? He believes it reflects something he sees in the student as a person. He assigned this specific poem to me. I was a little disturbed by the poem, but it also moved me as I could relate to it, and so I put my head to trying to analyze this beautifully eerie little poem. 


A diphthong literally means “twice voiced” Imagine multiple church bells tolling... There is some dissonance in the overlapping tolls of just one belltower, especially when heard abruptly in one’s sleep in the night. This experience can be startling, and frightening, especially when one is already unsettled from the sheer fact of being alone in the darkness of night. Maybe you can relate this to the experience of bright head lights of a vehicle shining through a window at night and waking you up from your sleep. Although there is no danger, and light is sometimes welcome in the darkness if you are searching for it, the light, like the bell, is unexpected and makes one feel uncomfortable by the abrupt change in atmosphere. 

Light exposes; darkness shields, shelters, hides, and conceals, and the darkness is shying from the light...

The speaker is alone and separated somewhat from others because he can hear the bell toll “down in the town, two deep lone miles” from where he sleeps. In broad daylight the tolling of the bell would be normal, expected, welcomed, just as praying, eating, talking, laughing, and other activities are normal. But the sound and meaning of a bell during deep sleep, summoning one to pray and beseech God’s mercy is mangled and distorted through the gloom and fog of a dark night.  You wake up confused, started, scared. His senses are detached, doubtful, and afraid. Basically, through auditory experiences these first three stanzas describe what it is like to go through a dark night. The speaker is doubtful, dubious, and this is understandable for anyone who has experienced the dreaded terrors of a dark night... But I also noticed that the bell is saying something. The poem switches from auditory to visuals, and there is a shift in the tone with the last word of the sentence, “the senses were unstrung, except”. Oh, and what does Synecdochic mean? I had no clue, so I looked it up. “Synecdochic” is the part of something that really means the whole of something. A smirk is also just a part of a smile, and so a “synecdochic smirk” seems to be a redundant phrase. But I think Wilbur is trying to say that the bell is like a blurred smirk through heavy shadows, and so is not experienced as strongly as a flashing smile would be in bright light. Although it is only part of a smile and is faint through the darkness, it still burns steadily to the disturbed sleeper – it not only burns as a star through light years of distance and murkiness, but burns steadily, consistently, and undauntingly. The star is the oddly steady, and firm burning fragment of the colossal universe. A star is just part of an entire sky, with its innumerable constellations and dimensions, and yet this star, an image of hope, is one of the few realities of the universe known to man, does not remove the fact that the universe exists, although we may not know the rest of it…yet.  However, a star cannot be seen by man unless it has a canvas of a dark night through which to shine, and so I discovered the first of the paradoxes hidden in this particular poem.  

What I got out of this poem? Well, as fallen creatures we experience certain terrors within the darkness of the soul, but now and again the bell comes, tolling to us from far away in the middle of the night. Although it is not always understood or welcomed, as its beautiful sound and meaning is mauled by the distorted fog of our minds, it is still there. We can close our ears, or close our eyes, or try to fall back down into slumber, but that will not remove the fact that the bell continues tolling, summoning us.

"I weary of the confidence of God." Look at it again; it seems to carry on the same theme of the previous sentence, admitting to the fact that there is a master whose work is ever firm, and oddly firm at that, and that nothing can compare to its stability and unique character. To be confident is to put one’s faith in something or someone, to entrust complete faith and hope in them, to abandon all fear of their ability, and to simply know through the act of complete trust. Of course this is the human understanding of confidence, but God works in mysterious ways, and cannot be fully understood by man, so His confidence is surely of a different nature. The paradox and primary moral concept that I took away from this poem is that one can be in doubt but at the same time know that that doubt can be part of God’s plan. After all, it makes sense that itsnot man’s faith in God, but the faith of God that is the salvation of man, the one unchanging Truth that I can indefinitely rely and lean upon.

theatrum mundi

You speak of Lord Byron and me; there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task. 

John Keats

There is a theory that the world is like a spacious theater where the actors use their talents and skills to learn, practice, and live their part – this is the Theatrum Mundi. I was so excited when I discovered this term, because this is how I have always viewed the world and the people in it that I meet and know!! Also, life is a journey, right? And one that ascends from the beginning to the end - just as a play carries its story from the start to the finish…orrr steps carry their traveler from bottom to top. I was sitting at the foot of the Spanish Steps here in Rome on an overcast rainy day last month, and as I chilled out and reflected on the scene before me, it hit me: the Spanish steps capture that theory of this world as a spacious theater, where the inhabitants mingle, practice, and live their roles. Steps have had their analogical part in literature as leading from this life to the next (think, The Bible) and with this in mind, the Spanish steps can be seen as the reminding role, the memento mori of the Theatrum Mundi, pointing us to the End Goal of our journey in life. If you’re not familiar with the Spanish Steps, they are formally called The Scalinata della Trinita dei Monti,  and are a set of steps in Rome that are built on a steep slope with the Piazza di Spagna at the base and the Trinità dei Monti church overlooking it at the top. When standing at the top, in front of the house of God, I had an advantageous view of man and his architectural accomplishments below. From the bottom of the steps, the height and expanse of the rows and rows of beautiful stonework stretching above and ahead was both an inspiring and intimidating experience. But the Spanish Steps not only have its own role in the Theatro Mundi – inside my mind – as a reminder of this life as a journey, but it has also had its role in actual film: the Roman Holiday with Audrey Hepburn and The Talented Mr. Ripley with Matt Damon. (Also, cool fact: its the widest staircase in Europe.) But the most fascinating thing about the steps for me was that at the bottom right corner is the house where John Keats lived and died his slow horrible death from Tuberculosis. Until Keats left this world at the young age of twenty-four, his eyes looked upon this very scene countless days and nights, as he contemplated the complexities - both the beautiful and the sorrowful - of this world. To be so close to the residence of such a mastermind of poetry was a super profound experience for me. I’ve also been blessed enough to see his grave here in Rome and pray for his departed soul in front of it. Anyways, I found out later that eating lunch on the steps is prohibited, as it is forbidden by Roman urban regulations. However, there are just so many tourists strolling and resting among the steps, taking pictures, modeling, posing, laughing, and when you close your eyes, all you can hear is traffic sounds, horns, screaming, and peddlers with their incredibly annoying, fake, squeaky toys. There is a constant jumble of different languages and schoolchildren screaming and laughing in Italian. I thought to myself, “This is not what I was expecting. I thought it would be cleaner and quieter.” To be honest, when I heard, “The Spanish Steps”, I imagined golden steps, sun kissed by the warm Spanish sun, and senoritas selling red roses in billowy skirts. The Leowe, Dior, Sephora, Longchamp, and Missoni shops across the street are distracting to the ancient feel of the steps and piazza. But despite the chaos and noise, I realized that this is interesting and different compared to the other countless Roman piazzas. It seems disgraceful and disrespectful to have all these loud people with their modern technology and cameras. But then again this is just like other Roman piazzas; old, worn, busy. The modern attire of the pedestrians is in stark contrast with the neutral tones of the steps. However, the architecture surrounding the steps has a hint of the theatrical flare of Spain, with its warm terracotta oranges, yellows, and browns. There is a sense of the old mixed with the new, as the ancient structures are mingled with the slightly newer looking buildings. Across the street the rooftop gardens on top the apartments over the aforementioned modern stores look like an oasis of peace and beauty compared to this noise and chaos. If the piazza was not touristy and busy I can imagine it as quiet, ominous, noble, and an awe-inspiring place, full of history and power. But in the end, this stark contrast brought to mind the role of fallen man and his treatment of the beautiful and spacious theater of natural creation. As I squinted through the droplets of rain, it was obvious that the obelisk is off-centered. I wondered…why in the world is the obelisk so obviously off centered? But somehow it works. It is a reminder of the imperfection of this life. While the steps are a reminder of the journey of life, and that the dwelling of God at the top is the finish goal, the flaw of the obelisk brings one’s imagination back down to earth again, where we are temporary residents.
And so: Life is like the worn yet noble stone of the Spanish steps, where poets, strangers, and travelers alike all mingle and participate in the drama, with the residence of the Divine One waiting for us at the top.