Audio: Cymbalism

Summer sounds different than winter--wouldn't you agree? I think about the sounds of my neighborhood all the time right now, so it seemed fitting to record this poem, "Cymbalism." Everyone has their windows open, so when I walk by, I catch little noises that give me clues about what they are doing.

The sounds in this poem are based on real life sounds. The white dog down the street is real, too--I used to see him when I was driving home from work, right when I turned onto my street...he looked/looks so overwhelmingly to run into the grass. In my mind, I imagined him cheering, "Hey, the lawn! It's still here! HURRAY! And the street!! Right here!"

You can hear "Cymbalism" here.

I've been thinking about sounds, music, and silence a lot lately. What sounds have worked their way into your daily life and rituals? How about into your creative work?

Cymbalism

Cymbalism

The darkness is radiant with streetlights.
The houses have their windows open,

the neighborhood is listening to itself.
A band is practicing in a basement,

their noise amplified and contained.
Bagpipes blast through a screen door,

a recording. A dog’s screechy exclamations.
A landline ringing four times, ceasing.

The band has finished. The clatter
of a cymbal against the floor, it must have

fallen, they must be packing up,
snapping shut the latches on guitar cases.

The white dog down the street bounds
out through a door held open for him,

and he charges the lawn, the bushes,
the pavement, driven by glee and gratitude

that is irrepressible. Who can he thank
next. Where should he direct all this joy.