A rare sound in my part of the world. The clouds that float over my home are often just fluffy bunnies or prancing puppies. Sometimes they contain rain or are blown by strong winds. But the empty tummy growl of thunder is rare and the stuff of a million Facebook posts.
Earlier there was sun streaming through the window, warming the office. Now, the thunderhead blocks out the sun and the temperature drops sharply – making my cold hands colder.
I sit here struggling over the right words for today’s blog post. Should I be funny or say something of importance? I was looking in my book, thinking I might put my headset on and record a reading of one of the poems.
A few days ago I was reading an article about, “poet’s voice.” That strange way of reading poems that we sometimes fall into – the voice flattens and becomes almost staccato. The sound devoid of drama and taking on an almost unearthly quality where we try to just let the words speak.
Then over head the thunder grumbles, rolls – sounding like a giant empty tummy complaining over the lack of food. Then the rain starts. How long before there is hail?
Perhaps I’m just a bit melancholy. While flipping through, There was a Time, I reread some of the poems I wrote about my mother and I was reminded about her and our difficult relationship. It was just last weekend I attended the memorial service for a friend’s mother and those memories of mother are surfacing again.
As I was considering which poem to record and how I might record without falling into a monotone or starting to cry, the heavens grumbled and the rain hit harder leaving me to wonder if my mic would pickup the falling rain.
A written poem is about the words. A spoken poem is the reader honoring those words with the performance – letting the words fill the heart and put life into the voice. If the words are exuberant so should the voice. If the words are sad, one should be able hear the reader cry.
The rain builds and then tapers off.
My recording is done – flawed and not exactly what I want, but I’ve uploaded it anyway for you to decide. The nature of the poem causes me to fall into that voice of a detached poet.
Perhaps strong emotion causes one’s voice to fail.
Peace,
Andrew
Send Me
Read by me.
