Let's Hear It For The Poets

:) it is good to hear your voice, I wish more poets would post audio on this thread. It is always interesting to hear how a poem was written to be read as appose to how I hear it in my head.

HA, I agree with you totally - I love to hear poems recited.

(By the way, if you haven't, click on the I Dream of You link in my signature - that one is also accompanied by an audio file, though not the best quality.... It's been getting 1-bombed lately, but... meh!)
 
I thought I'd try my hand at this. I hope that this thread is not extinct.

Paean

Well hello there AH! :) Thanks for sharing your bit 'o naughty.

And though this thread has been dormant for a bit, it is not extinct. I don't know about anyone else but I have more pieces that I want to voice, some mine, some not.
 
for harry - doors, locks, and the memory x

http://vocaroo.com/i/s1VFNzP6Cr3g

labyrinthe


the memory has many rooms
and many rooms have many doors
and many people come and go
and go and come through doors and rooms

and if each door should have its key
each key sat neatly in its lock
how many hands would turn those keys
to lock the doors of memory?

how many hands would take those keys
the keys to rooms with doors now locked
how many then would keep those keys
how many keys would then be lost?

the memory has many rooms
and many doors though some are locked
memory hides some things away
and doors stayed closed although we knock
 
the poet as director
http://vocaroo.com/i/s0DYvrmfRYbH

the poet as a director
replete
word-stuffed
our hunger's needs he
meets with living images that pose a
pretty pastiche or, more often, throw
a shadow, crook'd and hollowing, along and
up the angles of a room
pointing our attention to the cracks between the bricks that let the
whisper of the mourning wind steal through

he makes the flag-stoned floor tilt awkwar-
-dly away, mis-footing us a moment be
fore turning our attention to the almost but not-quite-yet
silent door
as if a door could speak. it does!
though in a language never meant for words upon a screen
more fingering of things inside the mind
things old and vital, holding us in place
apace
weighing up the odds of what-comes-next? de-
ciding if to hide or fight or on-the-balls-of-feet poised breath
and heartbeat flight

and then
when nerves are strung all wire-tight upon the point of snap
he'll on our hunched and frozen shoulders tap
to make us start and turn (as his intent)
to face what's in the room
it always was
he holds the mirror up
to us
 
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I love how clever this poem is, you took me weaving in and out of passages with your words, till l was lost in the labyrinth, going round and round in circles.

Your Queen's English is simply delightful and very natural Butters, where as mine is my best telephone voice, l might try recording one in a broad local accent.
:eek: ah, cheers HA, but my english is pretty blunted - have you heard des esseintes'? now his is typical english gentlefolk, and totally natural.

do it! :rose:

What an idiot trying to listen with disconnected head phones
*facepalm*

lols
 
Ooh Butters, I adore your readings! Your accent is lovely and your pacing is superb, all three were a treat to listen to.
 
coming back to listen when i return from work :rose:
morning, Harry my love, morning all you other poeteers :kiss:
 
I thought this one was here, but had to go hunt it down in the Just Porn thread, a luscious collaboration of writing and reading.

Champagne's reading of Todsksi's Moan Me a Tone piece.
 
trix :D:rose:

it's so interesting to hear a piece - how differently one poet reads it to the next. if we tried to write with that at the forefront of our minds it would drive us crazy!

for me, your reading of Harry's piece was crisp and clean -but that meant, for me, i didn't feel the almost hypnotic cadence of the write. when i read it, i hear it way slower in my head. see what i mean? each of us must 'hear' every damned poem so differently it's like a new poem every time! :eek::D

i really liked what you did with todski's, and your reading of oldbear's brought it even more to life than i'd 'inside-my-head' heard it before.

champer's piece is ... an education :cool:

feel free to take a run at any of mine if they appeal. :rose:
 
trix :D:rose:

it's so interesting to hear a piece - how differently one poet reads it to the next. if we tried to write with that at the forefront of our minds it would drive us crazy!

for me, your reading of Harry's piece was crisp and clean -but that meant, for me, i didn't feel the almost hypnotic cadence of the write. when i read it, i hear it way slower in my head. see what i mean? each of us must 'hear' every damned poem so differently it's like a new poem every time! :eek::D

i really liked what you did with todski's, and your reading of oldbear's brought it even more to life than i'd 'inside-my-head' heard it before.

champer's piece is ... an education :cool:

feel free to take a run at any of mine if they appeal. :rose:

I tend to talk fast, so when I read that's the way I hear it. There are some pieces that feel slower to me and I have trouble slowing my speaking pace for those. I'm working on it.

I was going to ask you, and others, for permission to read some pieces, thanks for the pre-approval :D
 
I tend to talk fast, so when I read that's the way I hear it. There are some pieces that feel slower to me and I have trouble slowing my speaking pace for those. I'm working on it.

I was going to ask you, and others, for permission to read some pieces, thanks for the pre-approval :D

:kiss:

i can never make mine sound as good as they do in my head - always the disappointment... lol :rolleyes::D
 
This is a wild experiment -- I'm not sure I like it. It's a bossa nova setting of one of my poems. I don't claim to be a good singer.

https://soundcloud.com/alwayshungry-4/door-into-summer

The Door Into Summer

No gaudy autumn greeted me,
My winter was not cold.
The planet spun reluctantly,
So bland, disheartened, old.

Perhaps the galaxies aligned,
Or maybe just because...
A helpful zephyr teased my mind,
I woke, and there she was.

She brought what spring had promised, though
It wasn't in the air,
And paints my days, like long ago,
With glowing solar flair.

It shines profusely down once more,
A flood of joyful sin,
Together we unlatch the door
And summer tumbles in.
 
Love the poem tods and you sound great! I love hearing these readings that tell me how the poet hears the poem. :rose:
 
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