In a world of endless noise, silence is golden

Though I’m deaf, it’s a long time since I’ve heard utter, total, restful silence. Silence in which to think. Or not to. In a world of endless noise and relentless racket, humans seem afraid of it.

In a world of endless noise and relentless racket, humans seem afraid of it. Picture: istock

Sorry, but if ever a songwriter deserved the Nobel Prize for Literature it wasn’t Bob Dylan. The most poetic lyricist in musical history isn’t Bob or Cole or Ira but Paul. No, not McCartney. Simon.

My very first essay for this masthead, almost 60 years ago, was about a Paul Simon lyric from the song America – as much a cinematic experience as a song. About being on the New Jersey Turnpike going to “look for America”, sung with the angel-voiced Art Garfunkel.

The best of them was/is their hymn to an old friend, Darkness, and with it, Silence. Which is what today’s column is really about. The increasingly rare sounds of… silence. Please listen carefully, as this column is in a whisper – as compared to the bullying bellowing of many distinguished and deafening colleagues.

Silence is golden, and far rarer than that precious metal. Though I’m deaf, it’s a long time since I’ve heard utter, total, restful silence. Silence in which to think. Or not to. In a world of endless noise and relentless racket, humans seem afraid of it. Yes, they might wear noise-cancelling headphones or earplugs, but only to hear recorded music more clearly.

Remember the arrival of the Sony Walkman? In its time, as revolutionary as the iPhone. As pedestrians, we were dangerously deaf to traffic, lost in a world not of our own but perhaps going to Scarborough Fair with Art and Paul. Or paradoxically listening to them extolling the sacredness of silence.

The world I grew up in seemed a quieter, calmer place – until Bill Haley shattered the silence in 1955 with Rock Around the Clock. And popular music has been getting louder ever since – with concerts engaged in a sort of decibel arms race, harming everyone’s hearing.

My deafness? It was caused by a lifetime of overload from studio headphones – a clear case for workers’ comp. For many others? Cranking up the volume of their loudspeakers and turning their cars into motorised boom boxes.

This brings us to the hearing aid – the classic case of a cure being worse than the disease. Plugged into the lugs, these uncomfortable appliances amplify everything. Even the best ones increase noise of all sorts – including the white, the background, the unwanted. No known device separates the unwanted audio chaff from the needed wheat.

As we approach this month’s National Week of Deaf People, let it be said that there is life after deaf – and aids do aid. Yet there are times when silence beckons, and you tug the damn things out and cut yourself off from all the racket. Even the conversation of those close to you. “Sorry, I’m not wearing my aids” becomes an excuse as well as an apology. You can even turn the telly into an endless silent movie, relying on subtitles.

For many it’s good to be in the cochlear era – when an implanted device means you can hear the welcome twitter of distant birdies or the worms burrowing beneath you. And even take comfort in a meaningless conversation. But it’s also good to be able to sleep through a thunderstorm, happily snoring in response.

Meanwhile, I’ve had to abandon a career in radio, where deafness is seen as somewhat negative. And the ABC turned deaf ears to my suggestion of mimed interviews. You could hear the silence in the room.