By the Sound of a Voice After a long silence that seemed An eternity, There came a turbulent noise, A spirited noise. No, it was a voice, A loud voice Lashing up a storm, Singing intense, singing hot. And in the violence Of that voice, Whirled seeds of sound, Fragments of sense, Half-words, Commas & accents, Rhythm & image, Inclining towards poetry. And the LORD bent His ear To hear spoken The moon & sun & stars – & there was a dark saying too, Sung by

# LanguageSpeaks ! A man carrying a voice recorder pauses at the door, enters. He looks a lot like Kafka but has the eyes of Tennyson. He possesses a picture of Saturn, and you don’t. It is green. If you like you can say the same. You can’t blame me for this. I am merely the host. The party has just begun. Enjoy yourself. He should have brought wine instead. Some people like voice recorders, some don’t. It’s not an issue. ‘Turn it down,’ he shouts. ‘I can’t