Читать книгу Listener - Lemn Sissay - Страница 7

This is a celebration of sound,

Of words said after the phone’s put down,

After the door’s shut at the editor’s cut –

Of thoughts held after the word ‘but…’

This is the sound. The actor’s sound.

Of inflections after the flick of ash,

Before the crash, before the whiplash;

Of thoughts collecting before they arrive,

Of the deep breath before the dive.

This is the sound,

Of tender fingers in a clenched fist,

Of the wind carrying an invisible kiss,

Of a secret unfolding wish,

Before the candle blows like a lisp.

This is a celebration of sound,

Of words said after the phone’s put down,

After the door’s shut at the editor’s cut –

Thoughts said after the word ‘but …’

Thoughts caught between the lines –

The reading sounds of needing minds.

This is the sound of beneath the laugh,

Beneath the draft, beneath the craft –

The space between the paragraphs,

The pause between the polygraph,

The actor acting out of her skin,

The sound of shedding sins.

The sound of spirit, the sound of soul,

The sound of heat, the sound of old

Dreams fading, reawakening time;

Of hope breaking the mould of mind,

Of the beat before the hands clap,

The click, the clack, the trip, the trap;

The sound before a dropping latch,

The sound of looking back – the 22nd catch.

This is a celebration of sound,

Words said after the phone’s put down,

After the door’s shut at the editor’s cut –

Thoughts held after the word ‘but …’;

This is the sound before death;

In the beginning it wasn’t the word,

It was breath.