Silence

The songs of the guardians of silence are the most powerful—
They are the most rare.

from “Singing Everything” by Joy Harjo

~

On the fifth day
the scientists who studied the rivers
were forbidden to speak
or to study the rivers.

The scientists who studied the air
were told not to speak of the air,
and the ones who worked for the farmers
were silenced,
and the ones who worked for the bees.
Someone, from deep in the Badlands,
began posting facts.
The facts were told not to speak
and were taken away.
The facts, surprised to be taken, were silent.
Now it was only the rivers
that spoke of the rivers,
and only the wind that spoke of its bees,
while the unpausing factual buds of the fruit trees
continued to move toward their fruit.
The silence spoke loudly of silence,
and the rivers kept speaking
of rivers, of boulders and air.
Bound to gravity, earless and tongueless,
the untested rivers kept speaking.
Bus drivers, shelf stockers,
code writers, machinists, accountants,
lab techs, cellists kept speaking.
They spoke, the fifth day,
of silence.

“On the Fifth Day” by Jane Hirshfield

~

“Every word,” wrote Beckett,
“is like an unnecessary stain
on silence & nothingness.” He
doubled down on this
commitment, with conclusive
force, when he died.

from [“Every word,” wrote Beckett, “is like an unnecessary stain”], by Kevin Phan (link)

Are we all not silent in the end?

~

We will walk quietly and then sit in silence at the beach. We’re going to practice listening with a particular state of attention: any sound that arrives in your awareness, you’re going to welcome it as if you were listening to a symphony. Any sound gets the same quality of attention: the cry of the eagle, the quiet slap of waves on the pebble shore, a sneeze, or a lawnmower engine, whatever sounds you notice, welcome them all with the same anticipatory pleasure and curiosity.

A guided meditation from Richard Bartlett.

~

Abramović:

AN ARTIST’S RELATION TO SILENCE:
An artist has to understand silence
An artist has to create a space for silence to enter his work
Silence is like an island in the middle of a turbulent ocean

~

from xkcd

And here’s how not to listen to 4’33”.

~

John Cage thought there was no such thing as silence - you can tell he lived in New York City. He even went into the anechoic chamber to prove it. And I can’t say he’s wrong exactly. But he isn’t exactly right.

~

There’s shower silent and bath silent and California silent
and Kentucky silent and car silent. And then there’s the silence that
comes back a million times bigger than me, sneaks into my bones
and wails and wails and wails until I can’t be quiet anymore.
That’s how this machine works.

from “The Quiet Machine” by Ada Limón

~

A few months ago, I finally had the chance to experience an anechoic chamber. After hearing all these stories - of John Cage’s inspiration, of a violinist losing their mind (likely an urban legend? …although it does have quite an effect). But I didn’t go in alone, I also went with four other people. Thus I mostly heard their stomachs, their breaths, and of course my own. It was a cool experience. But I would still like to do it on my own sometime, to see what it really feels like.

~

An incomplete list of places full of silence:

• the Siberian Arctic (as in Haulout)

There are also places that don’t have as much light pollution - maybe they are quiet (in terms of human noises) as well.

~

An incomplete list of musics engaging with silence:

• Arca’s Vortex remix of Tirzah’s “Colourgrade”
• “Limit To Your Love” by James Blake

~

Someday I will give a talk about silence where, right at the very start, I wait an uncomfortable amount of time, smiling at the crowd and keeping anyone from speaking, before beginning.

Then I would read a poem.

~

There is the sudden silence of the crowd
above a player not moving on the field,
and the silence of the orchid.

The silence of the falling vase
before it strikes the floor,
the silence of the belt when it is not striking the child.

The stillness of the cup and the water in it,
the silence of the moon
and the quiet of the day far from the roar of the sun.

The silence when I hold you to my chest,
the silence of the window above us,
and the silence when you rise and turn away.

And there is the silence of this morning
which I have broken with my pen,
a silence that had piled up all night

like snow falling in the darkness of the house—
the silence before I wrote a word
and the poorer silence now.

“Silence” by Billy Collins