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Michael Simms: Going Deaf
Now is the time for drowsy tanagers. -– E.S.
.
First I lost the tick of snowflakes hitting glass.
Then the sound of the cat’s tongue running over her fur.
It used to be I could almost hear her tail moving,
The muscles of the back stretching, the yawn going to a different register…
I lost the buzz of the fly, the distant hammer of my neighbor fixing his roof,
The whine of wind in the rafters and the exact words you speak
As you walk away, rooms opening to other rooms, houses full
Of music I’ll never hear as I walk by. The tinny laughter
Of television sitcoms I don’t miss,
Nor bus-farts nor gunshots of the cops
But Louis Armstrong, Bessie Smith… missing a few notes
Means losing the whole song, the way all the beads
Fall to the floor when the string breaks.
.
What I miss most are the sounds you wanted me to hear:
The too-weet, too-weet, of the hungry towhee,
The sisisisphree of the chickadee, the twonk–twonk of the woodpecker,
The redwing hawk as it cries to its mate,
Your mother singing, and through the years her voice cracking
And shattering and coming to rest inside you.
.
I do see the flash of the cardinal in the branches,
Even the woodthrush almost invisible in its groundnest of leaves,
The silent song sparrow carrying yarn in its beak
The return of hundreds of crows to our mountain every evening.
.
For a long time, you thought I didn’t have a hearing problem,
But a listening problem. And damn it, you were right.
So many sounds I ignored when I had the chance to hear them.
Every morning a riot of song, the stars going out, one by one –
I could almost hear them.
Every day our children learning to speak,
Every afternoon leaning into ourselves.
What’s the sound of two hands clapping?
.
Lost are the double entendre of the bed squeaking at night,
The slant rhyme of wind in the trees,
The anapest of crickets. Basso profundo of the bullfrog.
All that remains is the bright light on the snow
And the wind moving the last leaves on the poplar.
.
Soon comes silence, first the small silence of the deaf,
Then the Big Silence growing from a spot of darkness
Becoming a shadow under a tree and finally night, starless and forever.
Perhaps as my hearing fades, my listening will improve,
So every sound will call us home
Like our mothers in the evening,
Every fear becomes a sound like
Echoes in the pool hall —
.
Perhaps I will hear Chopin as I take off your bra.
Remember when we were first married,
How we loved being lonely together,
Riding the slow train from New York to Pittsburgh,
The rhythm a sympathetic magic between us?
Back home, we lay in bed, kissing like waterfalls.
.
Music will become a dream,
then a memory of a dream,
Then nothing at all, just a word,
An unformed idea
Like color to a blind person
Or like the smell of hyacinths lingering
After they’ve been carried out of the room.
.
You, my best half, know
When I hate myself, I hate us
And you flee to the woods to be
With your birds, your snow-filled trails,
Your deep ravines and wooden bridges
Braided waterfalls, stone culverts
And the singing of the stars
As they go out one by one.
.
Robin, the sentinel bird, lets out a cry
And the pileated woodpecker chases the hawk away.
Oh love, let us ride the lonely train to Pittsburgh forever
Where the November symphony grows fainter every year.
—–
Copyright 2016 Michael Simms
Michael Simms is the founder and editor of Vox Populi.
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Vox Populi 
I appreciate that this beautiful poem represents so much more than hearing loss. It hits the gut hard. But for those who are struggling…..Last year, my right ear “died” – I suddenly lost hearing in one year. I was diagnosed with SSNHL (sudden hearing loss) and found the kindest ENT doctor who encouraged me not to give up on getting it back. Gradually, the hearing in that ear has been nearly recovered. Happy to share the list of healing modalities I applied but the best therapy was hope. Isn’t that true of all ailments? Thanks for posting this.
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Thanks for sharing this, Patricia!
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Patricia Nugent, this response to Michael’s beautiful poem gives me hope. I’m happy for you, and I’d love it if you could share what you did to address sudden hearing loss.
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Hi Andrea – Sorry for my delay in responding. Here’s an excerpt from an essay I wrote about my sudden hearing loss: “In addition to the steroids from the ENT, I enlisted reiki, craniosacral therapy, holistic chiropractic, essential oils, acupressure, herbal and vitamin supplements, journaling, affirmations, and visioning. But the greatest tools I had in my arsenal were hope and gratitude. Hope, first generously bestowed by my ENT doctor, was amplified by my healing circle who offered their encouragement, wisdom, and skills.” If you’d like to see the whole story, I’d be happy to send along. It was a terrifying time….Be well. Thanks. Pat
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Patricia, thank you for this information. I’m impressed by all the forces you brought to this challenge, and I would like to read the rest of the essay. I’ll go to your site and see if I can find a link to the essay.
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Also, there are those saying that SSNHL is caused by the Covid vaccine. My ENT told me of a large recent study where they found there have been slightly fewer cases of SSNHL since the vax than before and that Covid itself can cause hearing loss.
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Andrea – One last thing: My ENT recommended zinc supplements for SSNHL. You can find related articles online. My best to you.
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Sadly, this marvelously written yet painful description is a reality for me as well. I appreciate the lyricism even though hearing the song is so much more challenging.
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Thanks, Katherine. Progressive hearing loss is a difficult descent.
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I lost total hearing in my right ear when I was thirty. At one point I played drums in an oldies band. What was I thinking? Now the hearing aid amplifies the noise drowning out the words I want to hear. I leave it off to listen to song sparrows snd baby hawks and the bees, but either way, I sometimes can’t hear the words of a poem or song. Sound and memory blur as I see I responded to this once before
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Thank you. In the past year, I lost my partner of almost 50 years, and, recently, I suddenly lost half of my hearing. Such a wonderful poem.
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I’m so sorry for your losses, Linda. The poem as you’ve seen is about grief and loss as we move closer to the end. Thank you for seeing the poem clearly.
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Oh, I know. Deaf in one ear, hard of hearing in the other. Hearing aid helps a little. Mostly I find myself avoiding big groups and echoey buildings. Guess I am becoming a hermit
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Just to let you know: I put posted the link to this on Facebook and the responses have been beautiful, including one from someone who’s losing her own hearing (“true, beautiful and giving words to unformulated feelings”), from someone whose partner is (“Lovely. This is happening to my partner but he can still see clearly and translate that into is painting. Good words to read”), and from people who have no experience with it but respond to its beauty anyway (“A welcome change from kitten videos and Trump tropes”; “Thanks for finding this”; and others). The thanks belong to you, not me, so I thought I’d come back here and pass them on.
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Wow! Thanks, Ellen. What a lovely comment to receive. Any writer would be honored to read this about his or her work. This poem is especially important to me because it touches on so many things that are at the center of my life. My family, music, nature… Bless you for posting this poem and for sending on the comments. You’ve made my day. — Mike
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Would you mind if I added your response to the comment thread on the post? I’d love to let people know how much their responses matter.
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Oh, please do, Ellen. I’m honored by your attention.
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You’re one of the real ones, Michael. It’s a pleasure to help get your work out there.
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Thank you, Ellen!
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This is gorgeous. Thank you.
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Thank you, Ellen!
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Reblogged this on O at the Edges and commented:
“Going Deaf” by Michael Simms is a great poem. Make that GREAT. It’s big in all the good ways, and quiet where it needs to be. Read it. Your day will improve.
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You shall always hear the wind chimes of cellular poetry intrinsic to love and life, for true sound, as in true sight, taste and touch are given us in measures equal to our capacity for feeling. And in this area, you are abundantly blessed. The sound of these words is laced with gratitude and the pitter pat of an early December rain on a gravel roof in Nebraska, though perhaps the rain is only in my eyes, the gravel bruising my heart a little after reading your tender offering.
🙏
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Thank you, Paula!
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oh Michael, your words are so perfect for what I feel (having lost so much of my own hearing). Thank you for the beauty in this and how it captures the losses.
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Thank you, Patricia!
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Lovely poem. My partner is facing this. You’ve said it so well.
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Thanks, Sarah!
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What a great poem…and all the little wonderful things hearers take for granted. Beautiful.
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Thank you! You are kind to say so.
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I don’t cry. It made me cry.
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Thank you, Nancy.
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Beautiful writing, Michael
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Thanks, Mike!
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Michael–I am carrying around this poem–it’s delicate and strong–and speaks to us through its offering as a gift to all who received it. It’s the INTIMACY poem we recognize as yours and then it is ours too and we are deeply moved by what touched you. You listened deeply–and oh can we hear you. Bravo
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Thank you, Rosaly!
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How do we cope, except with hope that one day we’ll both see and hear with thanksgiving for having had You near through trivial losses that reminded painfully of your own. Thank you Lord, and thanks to you Mr. Simms for an incredibly accurate poem.
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Thank you, Marie!
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I’m finding it difficult to not re-read this, to open this page again and explore it more fully. Michael, this is beautiful.
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Beautiful poem, Michael. Sad, yes, but the slow unwinding is inevitable. In the early morning, the sound I sometimes hear these days is tinnitus. It results, I suspect, from things like my cranking the old Pioneer amplifier up to hear The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” in all of its glory, back in the 70s, and then 80s and…
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Thank you, Daniel.
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Forwarded to a good friend of mine….
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Mike–This is one of the best poems I’ve read. Really fantastic. I’m going to share it to everyone I know. Truly brilliant. Thanks so much. Phil
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Thanks, Phil.
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Very beautifully written. It is the first poem of yours I’ve read but I am sure that I’ll read more. Blessings . . .
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Thank you, Peter.
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How sad, Michael. And how beautifully expressed.
Take care,
Dan >
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Thanks, Dan. I’ve noticed progressives attacking each other over the last week. In my neighborhood coffee shop yesterday, I witnessed — and tried to referee — a fierce argument between two women, close friends and co-workers, one black and one white, arguing about white privilege. The problem is that they both voted for Hillary after supporting Sanders. So many people are in agony over the events of the last week. How can we fight our enemies if we can’t forgive our friends? Take care. M.
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Intimate, bordering the sacred. When you talk about the music becoming a dream, then a memory of a dream, then nothing but an empty word is as sad as a dying star. If we lose the essence of something, how can we ever expect to communicate–to love–as deeply as we’re meant to?
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Thank you!
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This is poignantly sad and beautiful at once. Thanks Michael for the gorgeous poem.
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Thanks, Jane!
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Your poem was so beautiful. I’m sorry that your hearing is fading, but you have brought back to me so many things we forget to listen for in our busy lives.
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Thanks, Kelly!
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Wonderful poem! An upside to my own gradual loss of hearing is that the scrub jays don’t wake me too early on summer mornings with their loud, raspy cries.
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Thanks, Beth! Yes, we should look at our blessings.
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Oh Michael, you did what a good poet does. You put me in your world and made me feel empathy. If this is about you, I am so sorry. You made me know what it is like. My hearing isn’t so sharp anymore, but I hope not to lose it entirely.
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Thanks, Lois. And yes, the poem is about my own loss of hearing.
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Oh my. This is beautiful. I have half my hearing, and treasure it all the more after reading this.
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Thank you!
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Reblogged this on O LADO ESCURO DA LUA.
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