How does poetry relate to new speaker cables? Yesterday our best Jürgen brought us new speaker cables. I don’t know how we ever got along without ‘em.
Yeah, yeah, okay, I hear you but when you are finished laughing - I’m serious. The sound in our rooms is now one clean stroke after the next, drawn with soft charcoal, edged in ink; it’s defined, it’s color-filled, yes, that’s it, it’s paletteful; it is white laundry hanging hot in the sun, it’s like after the morning fog dissipates; the music loses that old wishful quality taking on a wistful, hopeful one, no longer struggling to be noticed just hanging in my rooms like a ripe peach; it just is.
But I love this most of all: Attempting to communicate what I hear and how that hotfoots me to the perimeter, where music is, where music is like poetry, where we are all feeling about, blissfully, blindly, at the edges of language.