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Alcohol, Medicine and Time — Movement III of The Vigil Cycle

Original Poetry

Translation

And every morn a new song is born in my breast,

And every morning a new song is born in my heart,

a hum of thanks, a constant, quiet search

a quiet hum of gratitude, a constant search

to just be. A gift, the breath I take,

to simply exist. A gift, the breath I take,

a testament to moments I could ride on

a testament to moments I could live through.

Hie, hie. The edge was nearly three times,

Go, go. The edge was nearly three times,

a close whisper, a promise to be clear

a close whisper, a promise to be free

of this. An embrace once feeble and fumbling,

of this. An embrace once weak and clumsy,

I could not quite remove the trace of a shadow.

I couldn't quite remove the trace of a shadow.

But here I am. The sun still heats my face.

But here I am. The sun still warms my face.

Yet I have tasted the three false saviours,

Yet I have tasted the three false saviors,

and I know their names by heart.

The amber offers forgetfulness,

the lie that promised warmth

but left me colder than the kitchen floor.

It was a river I tried to drown in,

only to find I was the one who surfaced,

gasping, more aware than before.

A drink to blur the edges,

but the edges only sharpened

into knives I could not sheathe.

into knives I couldn't sheathe.

The little white soldiers

The little white pills

marching down my throat each morning,

going down my throat each morning,

filing my teeth to dullness,

making my teeth dull,

smoothing the raw places

smoothing the raw spots

until I could not feel the sting

until I couldn't feel the sting

but also could not feel the rain.

but also couldn't feel the rain.

They made me a ghost in my own body,

functional, yes, but hollow,

functional, yes, but empty,

a bell that rings but has no clapper.

I took them to forget the hand,

but I only forgot my own name.

The slowest blade of all.

The one that does not cut but wears.

The one that doesn't cut but wears away.

It scrapes away the seconds like skin,

and I cannot outrun it,

and I can't outrun it,

cannot out-climb it,

can't climb over it,

cannot pray it into stillness.

can't pray it into stillness.

It is the clock on the nightstand,

the red eye that watches me bargain,

the hourglass that will not spill fast enough

the hourglass that won't spill fast enough

to drown me,

nor slow enough to let me rest.

Some days I am a small child who must face

a morning of fear, the ringing of the school bell,

a terror I cannot outrun, cannot out-climb.

a terror I can't outrun, can't climb over.

The fear of eyes, the judgement sharp and keen,

The fear of eyes, the judgment sharp and keen,

the invisible pain, the invisible scars

below the tablecloth. The gym, the house of shame,

under the tablecloth. The gym, the house of shame,

the spray from the shower—it calls my name,

a reminder of the things I want to lock away.

I bury down the truth so deep

I bury the truth so deep

that even I cannot find it some days.

that even I can't find it some days.

The blows, the hand, so harsh and biting—

or I would drift, no place for standing,

or I would drift, no place to stand,

lost and homeless, a whisper in the wind.

But God, my God, He brought me to my knees

with thanks. He doth strength to me renew,

with gratitude. He renews my strength,

to face the day, to see the dark through.

to face the day, to see through the darkness.

He is the rock, the constant beacon of guidance,

that helps me to bear the wrong and then the right.

Suddenly the praise—it feels like winter's frost,

a chill that takes hold, a warmth that's quickly lost.

I don't really want to find the love,

but empty words that leave my soul behind.

And then the sting, the lock of a door.

Never again the feeling that I'm wanted.

But His hand still reaches out in that void,

to quell the fear, to sweep each doubt away.

to calm the fear, to sweep each doubt away.

Explanation

In Stephen L. Harrison's poem, the speaker reflects on personal struggles with addiction and the search for meaning and redemption. The poem opens with a sense of renewal and gratitude, as each morning brings a new song and a quiet search for existence. This sets the stage for the exploration of the 'three false saviours'—alcohol, medication, and time—that the speaker has relied on.

The imagery of 'amber offers forgetfulness' and 'little white soldiers' conveys the deceptive allure of substances that promise relief but ultimately leave the speaker feeling hollow and more aware of their pain. The metaphor of time as 'the slowest blade' emphasizes its relentless, wearing nature, as it scrapes away the seconds and cannot be outrun or prayed into stillness. These images highlight the futility of seeking solace in external sources.

Emotionally, the poem moves from a sense of vulnerability and fear to a tentative hope and reliance on faith. The speaker recalls childhood fears and the harshness of judgment, but finds solace in the idea of a divine presence that renews strength and offers guidance. The tone shifts from despair to a cautious optimism, as the speaker acknowledges the fleeting nature of praise and love.

Harrison employs literary devices such as metaphor, personification, and vivid imagery to convey the emotional depth of the speaker's journey. The use of 'a bell that rings but has no clapper' and 'the hourglass that will not spill fast enough' creates a sense of emptiness and urgency. These devices enhance the poem's exploration of the human condition and the search for meaning.

Ultimately, the poem speaks to the universal struggle of finding purpose amidst adversity and the role of faith in overcoming challenges. It reflects the poet's broader themes of redemption and the complexity of human emotions, making it a poignant piece in contemporary literature.

Word Dictionary15

Word	In English	Plain (English)	Pron.
morn	morning	the early part of the day	mawrn
breast	chest	the front part of the body between the neck and the stomach	brest
hie	go quickly	to move or go quickly	hai
amber	a yellowish-brown substance	a color or substance often associated with alcohol	am-ber
sheathe	cover	to put a weapon into a protective covering	sheeth
clapper	striker	the part inside a bell that strikes to make sound	klap-er
doth	does	an archaic form of 'does'	duhth
quell	calm	to suppress or put an end to	kwel
beacon	signal	a guiding or warning signal	bee-kon
hollow	empty	having a hole or empty space inside	hol-oh
frost	ice	a thin layer of ice crystals	frost
sting	sharp pain	a sudden sharp pain or discomfort	sting
void	empty space	a completely empty space	void
renew	refresh	to make new or fresh again	ree-new
testament	proof	evidence or proof of something	tes-ta-ment

Poet & Context

PoetStephen L. Harrison

EraContemporary

Stephen L. Harrison is a contemporary poet whose works often explore themes of personal struggle, redemption, and the human condition. His poetry is known for its vivid imagery and emotional depth.

WhenContemporary period

WhyThe poem reflects on personal struggles with addiction, the passage of time, and the search for redemption and meaning. It explores the impact of substances like alcohol and medication on the self, and the role of faith in overcoming adversity.

FormFree verse

Themes & More

Themes

addictionredemptiontimefaithidentity

Literary devices

metaphor: 'amber offers forgetfulness' symbolizes alcohol's deceptive comfortpersonification: 'the slowest blade of all' gives time a cutting qualityimagery: vivid descriptions like 'a bell that rings but has no clapper' evoke emptinessalliteration: 'constant, quiet search' emphasizes the ongoing strugglerepetition: 'cannot outrun it, cannot out-climb it' stresses the inescapability of time