I sound like Homer. I mean Winslow Homer.
People like me sound like a lot of big cannons.
Cicadas, buckling and unbuckling their stomach muscles, yield the sound of someone sharpening scissors. Fall field crickets, the thermometer hounds, add high-pitched tinkling chirps to the jazz, and their call quickens with warm weather, slows again with cool.
I did try to write stories in college because I was interested in writing, and I was interested in the sound of language, but I was just no good at narrative and at fiction.
Books are mute as far as sound is concerned. It follows that reading aloud is a combination of two distinct operations, of two ‘languages.’ It is something far more complex than speaking and reading taken separately by themselves.
I am representing here – the sound of silence. The cry of innocence. And, the face of invisibility. I represent millions of those children who are left behind, and that’s why I have kept an empty chair here as a reminder.
Purity of personal life is the one indispensable condition for building up a sound education.
What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like beautiful music.
The poem, for me, is simply the first sound realized in the modality of being.
A general loathing of a gang or sect usually has some sound basis in instinct.