Grey Weather is Here

[adat]

Bond precedes word
as life precedes breath.
Riddles of chickens,
dinosaur eggs,
and whether tomorrow can ever come
fill gaps between notes
like the space between raindrops.
And the choir sings on.
 
Nothing to say,
no time to say it,
and anyway:
these ears are sealed.
“Sing it to the storm,”
cries the wet man
with a closed umbrella
tucked under his arm.
And so we shall.
 
No smile,
blank face,
handing out recipes of despair.
The shell-shocked will walk
and talk
and do what can be done
to remember, on nights overcast,
where Polaris dances, still.
All cut short as someone,
assured they know best,
concerned enough to condescend,
safely says sorry:
no notes allowed.
And, besides,
on this island,
north is not really north,
anyway.
 
Outside,
rain turns to sleet
pavement slippery,
a glassy trampoline underfoot
tossing back the city lights,
so many paper airplanes
crumpled up,
careening away.

[JC_Chalant]

Bond precedes word
as life precedes breath. (a poignant opening, I read it as speaking to the origins of language, how human connection had to exist as a necessary prerequisite to the development of language – that words and their meaning must have at least two people in agreement as to what they mean, otherwise they’re meaningless – much as one must be in a state of living before one can take a breath. The word choice of “Bond” here also has connotations of marriage, as in marriage bond, bonds of matrimony. )
Riddles of chickens,
dinosaur eggs, (continues on the theme of evolution via chickens -> dinosaurs, which connects to the progression presented in the opening lines, but it’s here in a more casual, almost humorous tone via the age old question chicken vs egg. A contrast to the opening lines of the poem, it lends the piece a levity that lifts the poem from out of theoretical/esoteric and into something much more approachable)
and whether tomorrow can ever come
fill gaps between notes
like the space between raindrops. (reads to me as no matter how much we try to understand these things – evolution, life/death, language, etc. there will always be what we don’t know, the spaces between. And we/society will try to discover that understanding through elements of conjecture. There’s an interesting transition sensory-wise in these lines as well, the sonic elements of notes and the visual space between raindrops, connected with the patter that comes inherently in rain drops. Really lovely all this)
And the choir sings on. (A statement on inevitability. The band marches on, the world continues, communication continues, whether or not these questions are answered or even pondered. Again, a bit playful, somewhat nihilistic)
 
Nothing to say, 
no time to say it,
and anyway:
these ears are sealed. (Great rhythmic quality here, and a play on common phrasing with “ears are sealed.” I sense frustration in the speaker, becoming guarded after finding communication futile perhaps? It’s not entirely clear, but perhaps that’s the point?)
“Sing it to the storm,”
cries the wet man
with a closed umbrella
tucked under his arm. (A vivid image and memorable image, it carries humor and emotion in it. It seems to represent what to do in the face of the aforementioned futility and frustration with language. That even when language falls short, it doesn’t mean stop with language but rather lean into it further, don’t speak but sing and cry it out into the chaotic void of the storm. Keep protections/censorships [the umbrella] sheathed and instead let loose.)
And so we shall. (The “we” here throws me off slightly after “these ears” – I interpreted a moment with a specific speaker, this now expands into a grander societal perspective. Is the speaker joining the choir from S1?)
 
No smile,
blank face,
handing out recipes of despair. (“Recipes of despair” has a domestic quality to it. Along with “Bond” from the opening line, I again find myself thinking of a marriage, an arena where communication failures are commonplace. This may be off track though, and while the image is evocative, it’s a bit vague at the expense of obscuring meaning)
The shell-shocked will walk
and talk
and do what can be done (indicative of some type of trauma or fatigue – repeated failures in communication I imagine. The poem is speaking broadly, I wonder if there’s a chance to narrow the focus a bit in this section)
to remember, on nights overcast,
where Polaris dances, still. (again, I go to marriage, or a relationship, with “dances” – to remember, in these periods of difficulty, the good times at the beginning, when a couple danced with their words, when conversations were easy. Is one or the other of a couple the shell-shocked here, going through the motions each day? There’s a longing for that orientation and sense of direction inherent in Polaris – that clear communication is the north star of these poor souls. “Polaris dances, still” is wonderful, by the way, how it conveys the shimmering stillness.)
All cut short as someone, (I’m not certain what “All cut short” is referring to here. Is it the shell-shocked, the previous good times when things were moving in a clear direction? Something else? I get a bit lost on this line)
assured they know best,
concerned enough to condescend, (what a line!)
safely says sorry:
no notes allowed. (notes doing double duty here. Initial reads for me kept going to musical notes, no singing one’s truth, recalling back to the wet man in the rain. But is this something more? No notes, as in no taking taking directions, someone not taking on marriage counseling or trying to fix a broken relationship?)
And, besides,
on this island, (speaker conveying a sense of being alone via “island”)
north is not really north, (the enjambment on “north” leaving “anyway” as its own line causes it come across as dismissive. Like, anyway moving on. As if the speaker too has given up on communication at this point, because none of it makes sense and direction is truly lost.)
anyway.
 
Outside,
rain turns to sleet
pavement slippery,
a glassy trampoline underfoot
tossing back the city lights, (this is more cinematic, a noticeable contrast to everything else in the poem, which had more of a sense of ruminating, this is sharper, direct. “Glassy trampoline” is an unexpected and interesting image that feels particularly crisp)
so many paper airplanes
crumpled up,
careening away. (paper airplanes as failed attempts at communication, a feeling of lament at what could have been, but this has all been tossed aside, thrown out, and is irrecoverable)

Overall this poem leaves me with a sense of frustration or disappointment in the way communication breaks down. And though one can scream and fight against it and try as they might, it’s going to happen. I end up zeroing in on a relationship falling apart due to communication failures, that comes mainly from some key pieces of diction mentioned above. I will say I may be pulling things out of context, and so if I’m way off I apologize. I do think there is some opportunity either way to perhaps make meaning clearer, the ambiguity of the imagery reflects the message in a sense, but may come at the cost of connecting to the reader… but again perhaps that’s the point.