Sound has always been at an arm’s length. Before this I only painted.
The fundamental gulf between art and sound is so deep that they are complete polar opposites in almost every way. Sound is flowing, formless, fleeting and transient. It moves on regardless of your processing of it. And then it’s over, gone. A painting is silent, unchanging, tangible, concrete.
I have never picked up an instrument, and you can tell from my poems. The syllables in a line are never the same, rhyme scheme is a fleeting hurdle. Meter and melopoeia are absent. I don’t know much about sound, and it shows.
Overbearing visuals and antiquated didactism are what I need to break away from as a crutch for lyricism. There is a delicate balance between these two gulfs, which we would just call good poetry. As much as I’d like to walk away from sound entirely, it’s difficult when poetry itself is rooted in spoken verse- and just an extension of language. Our idea of poetry, too, is inherently musical. The word itself conjures rhyme more than insight or epiphany. Language as a auditory medium will gravitate towards melody, the same way visual art gravitates towards what is pleasing to the eye. Turning away from sound for didact would contradict the medium.