spring

sounds children’s voices reverberating through the shimmering atmosphere. Voicing, laughing, shouting, in flange like ripples, poking through the wet stillness from before. Open sound extending through the clear blue sky, carried by the air and making it tangible.

Catching on the breath in my chest it is the sound of my past that has a future in expectations and glad anticipations - timeless and yet always moving, forwards into my life.

The anechoic chamber

at UCL fills my ears with yellow triangular walls. Dry air merges with dry sound; the pressure of dense stillness awaking a ringing tinnitus and affecting my breathing. It is not the hyperbole of John Cage’s visit to the anechoic chamber at Harvard University: no blood circulation, no nervous system, just a parched more isolated me - the intensity as much related to the heat and rising expectations than to any sound not heard. Clarity of diction compensates for an increasingly breathless speech, as it is time spent inside this softly compressing environment rather than its space that sounds the peculiarity of echoless silence.

Embers

sound the delicate crackling of their own demise. Wood opening up under the pressure of heat lit and fed by its own material. An invisible chain of minute sounds clicking and crackling faintly but clear, generating small and precise sonic illuminations. Now and then a sudden blow and crack signals the steady dissolution of the chorus into a dry and silent ash. For now, the heat against my ears, I hear solid wood as parchment, hot and fragile, strong in its ephemerality and temperature rather than as object. The heat meets the sound to generate what I cannot touch, producing an experience that confirms the visual not as an image but through a tangible sound - the carcass of wood glows in the sound of its heat.

Delhi SoundWords*

sleep

the calm resonates still, of the afternoon light on pools of water, slanting through the trees and enclosing walls.
the branches create the space and this vast zone vibrates with murmur. is it absence that charges the presence?
up high the wall of traffic looms on the horizon, down below the quiet is meant to be eternal.
a moment of humayun’s sleep.

Jan Schacher “Jasch”


*This is a guest edition of SoundWords featuring writing by artists, participants and audience members of the Sound Reason Festival in Delhi 16 November - 7 December 2013 organised by Ish S, http://soundreasons.in

Delhi SoundWords*

in hindsight from Europe - (isn’t it strange to use the word sight in this
context - and yet…)

Here the sounds are numbed…
Window panes insolated against cold and noise.
What I hear is subdued and leaves me out
(and here visuals are sharp, spotless and clear)

There the impact of sounds onto my skin was as if uncensored
Day and night
Many layers of sounds that created like a visual image of perspective

The house
The small road in front with the carts
The park behind with barking dogs and people shouting
The larger road and market further on
horns and bicycle bells and old tires
The Ring Road with heavy night and morning traffic
In daytime like a background carpet of noise
And finally the quarter behind that which I might have just imagined…

There the visuals were softened, by dust, by old edges, by usage.
Softer on the skin.

Angela Stoecklin


*This is a guest edition of SoundWords featuring writing by artists, participants and audience members of the Sound Reason Festival in Delhi 16 November - 7 December 2013 organised by Ish S, http://soundreasons.in

Delhi SoundWords*

wings

poked the embers of evening quiet in the trees
the splintered silence erupts in a frenetic cloud
in congress the birds need screaming to assert existence
the dusk is charged, there’s no quieting down as night falls
the crossroad’s condensed human bustle finds its model and pure expression in these beating wings.

Jan Schacher “jasch”


*This is a guest edition of SoundWords featuring writing by artists, participants and audience members of the Sound Reason Festival in Delhi 16 November - 7 December 2013 organised by Ish S, http://soundreasons.in

Delhi SoundWords*

I’ve always been here, at the centre of the pieces that sound a muted mundanity that is my very own. I bring myself back to these sounds when I’m far away, they comfort and confine me. Children playing, shouting back at each other, clusters of pigeons flying back and forth, muttering outside my window, car alarms and rustic motors -eternally indistinguishable. Time passes between cracks of willow on rubber balls, and the measured escape of pressured steam through kitchen windows. All this as I revel in some sense of belonging. A sympathetic detachment.

Sajid Akbar


*This is a guest edition of SoundWords featuring writing by artists, participants and audience members of the Sound Reason Festival in Delhi 16 November - 7 December 2013 organised by Ish S, http://soundreasons.in

Delhi SoundWords*

Whitewater

the call echoes and resonates with a long past metallic banging.
street vendors in the quiet neighbourhood in front of the house.
a string of memory ties and anchors them in the swift whitewater current running from present to past.
a link between two continents and two decades.


Jan Schacher “jasch”


*This is a guest edition of SoundWords featuring writing by artists, participants and audience members of the Sound Reason Festival in Delhi 16 November - 7 December 2013 organised by Ish S, http://soundreasons.in

The Pebbly

at Aberystwyth sounds the breath of the sea as an ocean of sound: a deep invisible force pulling in and out of its body residing beneath, unseen. This sound does not animate but mobilises the water’s surface, breaking its stillness and making it move. It gives it a thickness, depth and agency, to be what it is. Listening I reciprocate these forceful motions, entering into their rhythm and adding my breath between water and stones: sliding over each other and pulling each other under.

Atlantis

in Legoland sounds the silence of an underwater landscape covered by the screams and cries of eight children cooped up in a play-submarine accompanied by computerised voices emanating from loudspeakers embedded in the walls of the vessel, instilling in us the import of our mission here, below the water, in the lost city; framing and furthering the noisy enthusiasm of the crew. The assumed serenity of fishes and ocean creatures is a visual space denied access to by the response to its experience. A self-voiding set up that offers what is debarred by the frame of its encounter. In the end I stare, voiceless, into the small patch of sea in front of me, trying to tease out of this image the stillness that it holds and withholds at the same time.