-- The Ancient Bells of Angelus -–

John Herlihy

I can hear the bells, but they haven’t started ringing;

I can hear the birds, but they haven’t started singing.

The bells seem to echo and chime even before they start;

The birds seem nestled safely within the nest of my heart.

How they sound mysteriously both of distance and of home,

Infinite distance and inner home under God’s celestial dome.

When bells peal in cities, often they sound abrasive, in rush;

The open air of the countryside gives them freedom, lush.

Haunting notes send forth rhythms that touch, imploring,

Some elevated, some in depths profound, always adoring.

The sound spills out in cornucopia as if from wishing wells,

Whether measured notes or in clusters to create magic spells.

The night-darkened bell tower has heard every kind of sound,

Wedding bells, bells of birth and death, bells of warning profound.

Bells to raise an alarm, bells to gather together the community,

Bells that instill into the heart happiness or fear with impunity.

The sound fills the fresh air, the open sky, even closed hearts;

Each note of the massive bells releases emotion as it departs.

Massive bells but mellow rhythms ringing as if long existed,

A thousand years of echoing spirit that no one ever resisted.

Farmers in the fields bow their heads in weather foul and fair,

As the bells of the angelus ring across the fields as if in prayer.

The notes vibrate in the mind, in the heart, like a steady drum;

Slowly, ever so slowly, the feeling still vibrates in the dying hum.

Not a single heart never touched by those bells in the tower,

First silence, then a touch, to mark the closing of the hour.

Like humans, each individual bell sounds a different voice,

Wrought from hand-crafted metal with longing to rejoice.

Cow bells send a gentle rhythm across the Russian steppe,

The sacred bells of Angelus move heads to bow and weep.

The harsh voice of the goat cannot mimic their sweet bells,

In the grasslands, bluebells whisper their haunting spells.

Give me unending silence and I may only feel put upon,

With the ancient bells of Ravenna, then I behold the beyond.

I can still hear the birds and they haven’t stopped singing,

I can still hear the bells and they haven’t stopped ringing.

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(c) John Herlihy 2 January 2019