Seeing Sounds

Sounds

Sound has a profound effect on the senses. It can be both heard and felt. It can even be seen with the mind’s eye. It can almost be tasted and smelled. Sound can evoke responses of the five senses. Sound can paint a picture, produce a mood, trigger the senses to remember another time and place. From infancy we hear sound with our entire bodies. When I hear my own name, I have as much a sense of it entering my body through my back or my hand or my chest as through my ears. Sound speaks to the sensorium; the entire system of nerves that stimulates sensual response
(Louis Colaianni, The Joy of Phonetics and Accents)

So how did “C” get its sounds? How was “C” able to find a voice?  Poet and philosopher Dejan Stojanovic wrote that “sound unbound by nature becomes bounded by art.”  Bounding or framing is a way of creatively shaping experience, allowing something new to emerge.  “C” was able to engage in creative process, while shaping and transforming unbound sound. This artistic exploration allowed a surprising and fresh sound to emerge.  And that is how “C” was able to find a voice.

care (full)

care

 

 What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

“Leisure” by Welsh poet W. H. Davies, from Songs Of Joy and Others

published in 1911 by A. C. Fifield

bright yellow shadows

yellowcanary

Birds Appearing In A Dream

One had feathers like a blood-streaked koi,
another a tail of color-coded wires.
One was a blackbird stretching orchid wings,
another a flicker with a wounded head.

All flew like leaves fluttering to escape,
bright, circulating in burning air,
and all returned when the air cleared.
One was a kingfisher trapped in its bower,

deep in the ground, miles from water.
Everything is real and everything isn’t.
Some had names and some didn’t.
Named and nameless shapes of birds,

at night my hand can touch your feathers
and then I wipe the vernix from your wings,
you who have made bright things from shadows,
you who have crossed the distances to roost in me.

by Michael Collier

 

Land and Water

Land and Water

These are really the thoughts of all men in all

ages and lands, they are not original with me, 

If they are not yours as much as mine they are

nothing, or next to nothing,

If they are not the riddle and the untying of the

riddle they are nothing, 

If they are not just as close as they are distant

they are nothing.

This is the grass that grows wherever the land

is and the water is, This is the common air that

 bathes the globe.

Song of Myself (part17)

by Walt Whitman

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