Wendell Erdman Berry (Уэнделл Эрдман Берри)

The Silence

Though the air is full of singing
my head is loud
with the labor of words.
​
Though the season is rich
with fruit, my tongue
hungers for the sweet of speech.
​
Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say
​
‘It is golden,’ while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name.
​
It is in the silence
that my hope is, and my aim.
A song whose lines
​
I cannot make or sing
sounds men’s silence
like a root. Let me say
​
and not mourn: the world
lives in the death of speech
and sings there.

1. Ripening
2. Elegy
3. The Habit of Waking
4. Like the Water

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