The Call - By Mara Lemanis

 

The Call

It split the air like a meteor
with a windpipe
a dominant note pealed in E major
the trusted key of transformation
layering a chord of sharps, G F C D
vibrating into shadows
glimmering off the major tonic
It might have started as the first shriek
by a prehistoric bird, a raptor
refined to celebration
by a nightingale
inventing the diatonic scale
It might have come from a seismic rift
splintering into a mother lode of bells
pealing above the earth’s stone voices
issuing mandates —
fiats and deadly force —
stockpiled through epochs of rote ambition
It was calling out invitation
ringing a symphony of solace
healing earthbound fears that seek
their remedy in subjugation
a peal of joy above the drones, bombs, bitter
gloom that had become our daily dread
a tenor pitch round, full
supple as the succulent appeal
of fruit, a ripe pomegranate
then the verdant echoes
mimicking the strike tone
rising, sliding into harmonies
The Russian monk Saradzev heard
a hundred sharps In the overtones
100 flats in the undertones
when he rang, millions wept

I could not weep, joy engulfed me
I yielded to the lure of tin on bronze
singing a Solfeggio frequency 528 Hz high
How had this ringing dimmed my daily dark?
There once was a bell of bronze and brass
30 feet high 24 wide 200 tons
cracking under fire
its iron tongue waylaid
never played
it was the ancestor of the one playing me
moving me to its festive vibes
pulling me to a giant oak
growing on its own tectonic plate
branches spread from shore to shore
leaves swaying with the rhythm of the bell
delicate, hanging on their stems
catkins clustered like tiny bells
beneath the canopy acres of bodies
stilled, firearms
like stiff hands
faces gutted, empty
What pealed for them?
For them it tolled.
They lay like withered vegetation
waiting for the earth to let them in

A mile beyond rose the tower
and the bell a giant trembling solace
In concert with the oak
to a world unconscious of its purpose
I was a willing captive
not a prisoner brain tortured
in a chamber of relentless sound
I was a witness
the spheres of my brain made a pact
the two spheres locked in a single dome
the voice of the bell conducting
I scaled the iron tower
I reached the platform
I stood inside the insatiable mouth
tin on bronze
a pendulum rocking right to left, lip to lip
struck the sound bow
the pendulum swung
I cleaved to the shaft
wrapped around the tongue
feet gripping the orb at the end
like a miniature ball turret
I rode the shaft
half-circle up to the crown
half-circle down to the waist
I moved on an axis bow-shoulder-crown
Inhaling the voice at the lip
exhaling the echoed hum
the mouth turned
up to the sky
The bell my throat
The shaft my tongue
I was singing my mother tongue
voicing my first enchantment
pitched at the skylight
mouth filled
with green-gold dust
eyes filled
with catkins pouring pollen
dropping layer after layer
upon the ground
upon the bodies beneath the oak
high up on the welcoming branches
flower clusters lifted into wind
waltzing with air and land
acorns rooting at will
like liquid spokes of a wheel
human throngs
flowed toward the bell
mouths open, eyes closed
or open
singing the song of solace
ringing in transformation

                                                                                                                       Mara Lemanis

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mara Lemanis

Biography: Mara Lemanis is a literary scholar. Her essays have been selected for 20th CENTURY LITERARY CRITICISM and are included in undergraduate student textbooks in the U.S.

She has worked as an archivist for Historical Preservation and with the IRC, assisting refugees in Oakland, California.