Winter -Lull by D.H. Lawrence

Winter-Lull
By D.H. Lawrence




Because of the silent snow, we are all hushed
Into awe.
No sound of guns nor overhead no rushed
Vibration to draw
Our attention out of the void wherein we are crushed.

A crow floats past on level wings
Noiselessly,
Uninterrupted silence swings
Invisibly, inaudibly
To and fro in our misgivings.

We do not look at each other, we hide
Our daunted eyes.
White earth, and ruins, ourselves, and nothing besides...
It all belies
Our existence; we wait, and are still denied.

We are folded together, men and the snowy ground
Into nullity,
There is silence, only the silence, never a sound
Nor a verity
To assist us; disastrously silence-bound!

1919

I read an essay on the poems of winter in which the writer described as a form of death and the essayist gave examples of poems that treated winter as death. I had to admit this was true, but I was reminded of the above poem by D.H. Lawrence that seemed to treat winter as silence but in the end as a form of death as well.

We are in the season of winter and it is a time for me to sit inside and enjoy looking outside my window with my blanket across my lap near the heat drinking hot coffee or tea. Snow falls and I fancy that I can hear it before I get up in the morning and pull the blinds because I don't hear anything at all. All is quiet. There are no cars or trucks driving past my house. Everything is silent. Winter is the season of quiet especially when the snow is falling and everyone is home, the ice forming on the edges of the house and the highway in the distance has been closed at least for awhile.

In a heavy snowstorm, the electricity sometimes goes out and the candles are brought out and the wood is put in the fireplace. It is a time for thinking and reflecting. We go within ourselves and wait. No one is going anyplace because the driveway is full of snow. In our lives, distraction is the rule; but there is no distraction as we sit watching the snow blow against the windows and huddle in the blankets. There is only silence, never a sound until the relief when the electricity comes on and when the storm stops and the snow plows are out on the roads. Our eyes look to the garage where the snow shovels are kept.

Sometimes, I wonder how it was for people a few hundred years ago when there was no electricity to come on. It would have been like death to listen to the snow blow against the window panes and the walls of the house and for many people to hear the wolves in the distance. There would have been no phone to ring or no one you could call. Silence would have been more pronounced, more apparent and more deadly.