Sunday Shares - Week 13
Embracing More that the Common Senses
As part of my effort to make my life simpler, to minimize unnecessary (negative) stress, I’ve been seeking out more quiet moments. I’ve been running/walking/riding the train without wearing my Shokz1.
But now I’ve noticed a strange sort of music coming from my own mind.
I’m one of those people who can’t remember melodies. I don’t mean I find it difficult: if a melody doesn’t have lyrics, I can’t recall it. I used to think that I wasn’t trying hard enough, or that I wasn’t paying attention (Hello, dropped Music Appreciation 101 in the nick of time), but now I know that I simply do not have the ability. And I’m okay with that.
There’s something called amusia, which wikipedia describes as a musical disorder (okay: yet another thing labeled a “disorder" on the spectrum of human variations, just to keep us feeling defective), but I don’t think I have that. I’m not tone deaf. If the note is carrying an element of speech, I’ll remember it. The thing about my inner music is that it sounds like an orchestra tuning. And I really like that. It gives me a feeling of anticipation. Optimistic.
I make it a habit to try to deliberately notice senses other than my vision. When I run I sometimes close my eyes—just for a few steps—to register my body, my feet, the pine smell, and the bird song. I do yoga with my eyes closed to focus on proprioception. For a few months, a few years ago, I meditated in the mornings while making little, ephemeral begging pots, in the spirit of Paulus Berensohn. (If you haven’t seen the documentary To Spring from the Hand (2013)2, I highly recommend it.
This week I saw a short film about a deafblind potter, and I thought, “Yes.” I certainly don’t want to romanticise blindness, but maybe I’m still too often taking my other senses for granted?
My life BC3 may have been ridiculously stressful, but it also afforded me the luxury of exploration. During Lockdown I took two courses on asemic writing with the poet SJ Fowler. The courses inspired me to question my definition of poetry.
Maybe, akin to our senses, there are so many ways to initiate metaphorical leaping/poetry4 that we either take for granted, or aren’t even aware of. I am not good at asemic writing, but experimenting with it refined my scope as a practicing poet. (Because knowing what your personal practice is not, is essential to knowing what it is.) It also developed a genuine appreciate for the talent others do have in this area.
The following video is long, but worth it if you are interested in the topic.
All this to say that this week I stumbled on the Danish poet Morten Søndergaard’s work. He’s a poet who has collaborated with Fowler in the past. I’m fascinated by Søndergaard’s piece (his categorisation) “Suture”. It is featured in the online journal Scrypth.
Although the images are evocative and emotional for me. I see it as art, without question. But it’s actually some of the elements in the “About the Work” text that create leaps for me, that bring it near poetry. (I’ve put them in bold to distinguish them from what I consider declarative.)
I would love to know what you think about this!
[…] Memories present themselves as I write it. The shivering needle that marked my father's epileptic seizures on an EEG. The needles that were placed into my own skull when I made the sound piece Mindblowing, transforming brainwaves into sounds. The needle in the gramophone record of the work. The sound of my room, a recording from my room as I write poems. The line drawn in my favourite childhood cartoon La Linea. It is the pure pleasure of writing! I am three years old, and scribbling words on a piece of paper by making meaningless signs. Meaningless? They meant everything.
Now I am off to get some sun. And to see if I can see the woodpecker I’ve heard poking around near the lake.
“Best hilsen”, from Norway’s wild west. Have a good week!
This conduct music through your jawbone, so it’s less likely to be hit by a train when listening to the Hidden Brain podcast.
The film used to be available to purchase and download from a dedicated website. It looks like it may only be available on DVD now, via Penland School of Craft.
Before Cancer: Breast Cancer Diary: Finding My Bearings Now
I’ve been very influenced by Robert Bly’s Leaping Poetry. I think it parallels Aristotles idea that the art of drama occurs when an audience member “understands” - and that happens in the leap between the onstage action and individual’s perception. I think that is poetry. (This is a personal, not academic, assertion.)
What a fascinating work that is about the sutures...and the connections he makes in the text. And with asemic writing. This is so cool.
Deaf in one ear since I turned 30, messed up the other playing drums in our band. Tried to take a fiction class and got about 1/4 of it because of a noisy fan ( hearing aids were useless). In some former times I heard music in my head. Rarely now. I want to listen to all my favorite folk music, but afraid I won’t hear something important. Have been unable to write poems lately. They sometimes used to arrive with music.