"TELEPHONE for solo piano and mixed media" from Owen Davis on Vimeo.
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| Poet Christopher Fox Graham, left, composer Owen Davis, pianist Jess Ryan, and poet Eugene Brosseau at Northern Arizona University's Ashurst Auditorium on Saturday, Dec. 8. |
For more information on the work, please contact: owendavismusic@gmail.com
What I do is use one cell phone to call another, put them both on speaker, and place them earpiece to mouthpiece to create a feedback loop, which grows louder. By the third portion, it sounds like digital crickets, which coincides with Brosseau's line "holding it tight as crickets call from under the back porch."
"Telephone"
By Eugene Brosseau
This whole thing started as a conversation
but has turned to so much noise that neither of us can hear the other
as if the words themselves were now the meaning
and the only virtue of silence is its contrast to such incessant discord
I can barely tell your voice from mine as we run together unaware in wasted words
our minds made unclear by the now hoarse voices we hurl at the walls of each other's holdings
I know passion must play a part and I suffer for not recognizing yours
and yet I insist on trying
at first to convince you
and then to drown you out
unwilling to refuse myself I beat you about the ears while I persist in covering my own
but I am beginning to feel that I want something better
I want a revelation
BREAK
Some strand of hope must be running through this
something vital coming over the lines
I can feel it under my bare feet as I run through you like a puddle
splashing as I go to make you feel my waves
which are all reduced to ripples
when
if ever we stop
can we listen to the silence
and find something in common there
there is where we could live
in the stillness on the line
we could walk into that silence
like a Baptist into a river
with all our armor off
complete and unrevealed
and wash away this enmity and dread
BREAK
Are you there
I can hear you breathing
please don’t hang up
stay on until I fall asleep
you can tell me what you see when your eyes are closed and I'll just listen
holding the empty can to my ear while the string hums
holding it tight as crickets call from under the back porch
and the stars are coming out in the purple sky
and the pine trees send their comfort on the cool air
through the screen window into my room
where I lie on my bed legs crossed
listening to your words
humming on the string
into the empty can
pressed against my ear
