Thursday, June 30, 2011

Distance of Sound


Must have by Neha

I travelled a distance to meet sound
The journey went inside me
The journey went outside me
Like two atoms of hydrogen and
one of oxygen coming together to
form water - The H The 2 The O as H2O
One of me merged with an ocean of sounds.

I became the thumping of a drill making
out with brown earth on a sunny Saturday afternoon
I became the deep breath
pulling me to the present moment. Now.

I became the boombox playing a distant song.
The distant song I went and found as I
walked closer and closer and closer.
So close that I felt it in my pulse.
I became the tapping sandals of the girl
in yellow shirt dancing as if boombox got
electricity right out of her.

I became bus tires screeching on dry grey road.
The car engine roaring. The van horn begging
for attention. The volunteer fire truck alarm says
someone needs me. Needs me NOW. A call for help.

I became the laughter of the
little girl in pink dress
swirling around the tree. This is fun.
This is free when nothing is.

I became the voice of men
passing time. Or maybe time was passing them.
The man in oversize safari walking like
a high tide wave. Half drunk half alert.
He says : Hey Baby!

The drill is making out with the brown earth far away.
I enter the gates of historic house of man who broke
the chains - the ones inside mind and out.
I became the sound of wind brushing against my face.

The house sits on a hill watching the neighborhood
like a guardian deity of a kind. I am ready for a hike.
I became the footsteps climbing
the stairs. The breath just a little short of itself.

I became the park service guide's baritone voice.
I became the phone beeping in between. The door
opening. The air conditioner buzzing in the room
where he once sat - the man who broke the chains.

I stepped out to the backyard.
I became the sound of a rite of passage going on
under the shade of crisp green trees.
I became the vocal cords of a Jennifer Hudson
waiting to be found. The African drums beating.
The woman in white reciting a poem.
I became her poem. She called me 'at the crossroads'.

I head back.

I became the birds chirping, crickets electrifying
the afternoon. The motorbike breezing through the
snailing traffic. I became the drill making out
with brown earth. No. This is not the climax yet.

I walk on.

I became the silence of the glass
front of a worn down closed store.
The sticker on my face says :
It must have been here all along.

It must have been. I just heard.
Many voices.
Many beats.
One city.
Welcome to Anacostia.

- Neha

Dedicated to KCDC and Robert Peterson's sound recording immersion!

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