A memory of planes
moves my feet through the sheets–
I will my soles to touch the rug.
I recycle coins like I’m an old slot payphone,
vending machine of frantic calls.
The beat of my shoe
golden drip of tipped water.
A cascade like at the carnival
when horse hooves collide with stone
in ever-diminishing cadence,
and water sloshes,
washes the dynamic fountain slack.
All water falls.
The city is a nocturne,
a footsore shuffle
of coins rolling downward
in a metallic spiral torrent.
I care less and less about
Who was I before this blue
apple-sky of September?
Jessica Purdy, Sonic Fugue
American, b. 1969, playing from Exeter, NH, USA
Jessica Purdy holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Emerson College. She has a BA in English and Studio Art from UNH. Her poetry has appeared in Flycatcher 3, The Foundling Review, Literary Mama, "What is Home", (the 2007 Portsmouth Poet Laureate program’s publication), Ethereal Dances, Analecta, The Beacon Street Review, and Main Street magazine. She teaches Creative Writing at Southern New Hampshire University. She lives in New Hampshire with her husband and two children.
Thoughts on the Telephone process
My experience with this “translation” felt very organic. After listening to the piece of music several times, I wrote down initial impressions, simple words, images that came to mind. Then I slept on it for about a week and came back to it. Once I started linking the phrases and images together, it started to form itself into a concept. I had no intention of an outcome, but the outcome came about entirely through the music. I was enthralled with the experience. I felt like it was a gift. It felt like a “found” poem, since I never would have written it without listening to the music. I think it stands on its own as a poem, but I cannot wait to see what the original message was and compare my translation to it!