I want to think of the page as a piece of technology that captures the way I would read the poem out loud. The page is a musical score. I set out to format the poem while also thinking about tempo.
If you’ve read your work aloud for many years and can’t tell when an audience is tuning you out or getting bored or restless, then you’re not paying attention. Too many poets (and too many fiction writers) read their work as if they’re alone in a room, performing some burdensome task.
Villanueva digs into his poems, at times mythical, who yearns to understand his connections to his history and his emotions.
Yes, we want to hear your idea of poet voice. To submit, please choose a poem (your own or someone else’s) and record a video of yourself reading it twice: 1. First with poet voice 2. Then in the voice you think it’s best communicated in Need a bit more guidance? Check out the below video of…
SOUND is looking for one-time reviewers as well as correspondents to do poetry reading style reviews. Attend a poetry reading and tell us about the reading style of one or more of the poets.
Visually, I don’t want my poem to look weird. I want it to look totally normal on the page. I want it to appear normal and accessible, so that when weird things start happening people have less of a reason to question things.
Sound is the pure coercive force of Art, the medium which desires to change forms. It is very important not only to the structure and nature of McSweeney´s work but to the nature of art itself.
I will never rip a single bird
From among its flock,
spread out low over the field,
And devour it raw
There amongst the ankle-high cornstalks.
My first concern is to create poetry that brims with life and even spills life into the lifeless. That, at its best, poetry is not a thing to perform or read, but rather a way of being and moving through the world.
One’s people lift obelisks: Spain’s thumb,
a rodeo ashtray, five-lettered brumal distillery…
If I open my inner ear to a particular frequency and tune in often and carefully enough, I can hear the music of the words. Poems come to me as sound first and foremost. The visual element comes second, possibly even third. As the words come to me, I whisper them aloud. I mutter to myself. I write down those quiet mutterings in a continuous longhand scrawl. I say to myself, don’t judge, don’t judge, don’t judge.