I’ve been writing a poem every day and it’s not going so badly. Not that I’ve written anything of much value, but it hasn’t yet turned into fruitless torture. Yesterday I wrote a poem that ended with “Set your pirate to vibrate.” After walking the dog this morning I wrote a poem in which the sound of birds in the park by my house is compared to those big water coolers that light the corners of dusty offices.
I mentioned once before reading a review of a book about a woman who was cured of deafness in her 20’s or 30’s. People asked her what she found to be the worst sound and she said a crying baby. The best was birdsong. My favorite sound has always been the sound of water – either flowing in a stream, or raining, or bathwater sloshing around. I also like the glug glug of the water cooler, kind of clownlike and floppy, and in a weird way a combination of moving water with birdsong. At least that was what I thought this morning walking the dog in the rain.
I’m away for the weekend, listening to the Rhine, which sleep sounds like.
2 comments:
I keep coming back here because your ability to find the profound in the mundane is so wonderful.
Here, where I work, the water cooler is silent. It is a 'never-dri' water filter system using uv to filter. In NYC the 'natural' sounds are the tinkling of the keyboard, the 'hum' of the trains and the waves in the tide of the copier. Thanks for pulling back the shade.
Have you read any Asimov?
Soundless water coolers be damned.
I've never read Asimov, no. Worthwhile?
Post a Comment