The Listeners
‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:—
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
I’ve shared this poem with the writing group before?
What’s it all about? I don’t think Walter de la Mare ever said. But...
I was in the room when the foodbank co-ordinator phoned “John”.
He sounded pleasant, upbeat... After the initial confusion he was thankful his call for help had been answered. He couldn’t come and collect his food parcel because he had no car, no bus-fare, and, no, he didn’t have any friends or family who could help. If he did, he wouldn’t be in this position.
The co-ordinator was in by himself. He couldn’t deliver. The foodbank would be closing soon.
I was passing through on another mission. I raised a finger, pointed at myself. The co-ordinator didn’t miss a beat. Would John be in for the next hour? He thought he could arrange a delivery.
I loaded bags of what I assumed must be much-needed food into the car and set the sat-nav.
Needing help with food doesn’t mean you have to live in a rough area. But, this was a rough area.
Walking up the path, I noticed that thick blinds were pulled down behind every window. I knocked on the door. I heard it echo. No one answered.
I tried again. He knew I was coming. No one answered.
I phoned the number he had supplied. No one answered.
I was tempted be confused, but I’d been there myself. I left the bags on the doorstep. I removed the foodbank flyer stapled to the bag so none of his neighbours would know the predicament he was in.
Walking away, I texted him to let him know I’d been.
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
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