She . . .
I have heard it said in these and in other words that everything we think is all and only words, everything only a word. There are no things except but for words, I have heard and I have said; yes, ours and ours of words, if you get what I am driving at; the force and the power and the glory of words.
What does it mean for someone not to be able to read–wha is it that the man who does not read although he has the ability to imagines he has over the man who cannot read? To read or not to read has been the moving force of civilization I remember having heard, I think, where was it I cannot say but probably could imagine accurately enough if I called on myself to do so.
I have the tendency to sub vocalize. I am poet and must feel the words, the weight of the words, the texture of the words, the shimmering motion of words–there are words that do not shimmer in motion; sight and sound and movement are not one; why then do I use a metaphor of light for motion; a streetlight blaring through a window like a stampede of elephants I recall having written I forget in which piece, a novel I remember having rewritten how many times, the perpetual revisions, revisions, rewriting taking on the role of seeing again.
Did you know that a tree falling in the woods does not make a sound if no one is there to hear it fall, having fallen in silence? To be silent or not toe silent; how to be silent. I grew up when parents had abandoned although not entirely the notion that children should be seen ad not heard; unheard, muted? Gagged?
What was it I was trying to say about the tree falling i the woods with no one there to hear it having fallen? No ears; no sound. Yes, that’s right; no ears to make the sound,no sound. Sound is created in the ear. What the tree does, though, make is a compression wave, which would then be translated into sound by the ear if there were ears to hear with; yes? No? You disagree? How so?
So, what then do we listen to when all of us are trees falling in a lonely forrest bereft of ears?
“God is greater than all the books supposedly by Him,” She Says. What more is there to say, would there be to say if . . .?