Sitaram
02-02-2005, 05:23 AM
At writers.net, one person posted about how difficult it is to speak
about "the voice" of an author. Her words caused me to think.
http://toosmallforsupernova.org/page016.htm
In speech and language we are totally free. We are free not only in a
constitutional and political sense, but we are free even from the laws
of physics. Our freedom allows us to recreate ourselves and even God.
In our words we may fly above the clouds, create and destroy worlds
and universes or travel through time itself. Time travel is quite
possible and we do it all the time; we travel in one direction, forward,
into the future. We just haven’t figured out yet how to put the
vehicle into reverse.
This total freedom of speech is really the freedom of our imagination.
We simply put the images and actions of our imagination down in
writing and that freedom of our fantasy world becomes freedom of
speech.
Ever since early childhood I have felt the enormous power and
freedom of imagination. Robert Frost speaks of being “immortally
wounded” by the line of a poem. The tragedy of the addictive
personality is that it constantly seeks to recreate that initial high of
their first intoxication or first sexual experience. In my reading and
writing I have always sought to re-experience as new and fresh that
numinous thrill of something transcendent. Whenever I attempted to
write, I sought words as weapons to immortally wound the souls of
others. I wanted my words to by that exquisite virgin child dancing,
secretly, shamelessly and seductively, naked before the gaping eyes
and speechless opened mouths of a throng of aged renunciates
stunned motionless yet trembling at the sight of what they have
always longed for yet never dared imagine much less speak.
Innocence is ripe with a lust all its own.
This delirious freedom is always here, surrounding us. This freedom is
our Buddha nature. We are always free but we must work to escape
the illusion that we are not free. We are fish seeking the ocean, failing
to realize that it surrounds us.
How grateful I am that there are Hemingways and Stevens and Frosts
in this world of mine. My world would have been so much more
impoverished without their words. Yet it is not enough for me to read
their words and be wounded by them. I want to write such words and
wound all future generations. But I cannot imitate their words for that
is their voice and style. There can only be one Hemingway, one
Stevens, one Frost. The world has no need for two. I must find my own
voice and style. How many voices are there in any given reality? How
many heroes are there in any given universe in any given eternity?
Even God’s voice of many waters is one voice with a style all its own.
Perhaps I can become the water of many voices. Do you think God
would mind if I do that? Would you, the reader, mind?
I shall become the waters of Babylon, and on my banks you shall lay
down your instruments and weep. I shall be a river flowing out of
Eden. I shall be a red sea and a sea of reeds to swallow all the
pharaohs. I shall be the deep of the frolicking leviathan. I shall be the
Mississippi for your raft adventures. I shall be your crossed Rubicon. I
shall become the water of many voices and in it I shall find my voice
at last.
about "the voice" of an author. Her words caused me to think.
http://toosmallforsupernova.org/page016.htm
In speech and language we are totally free. We are free not only in a
constitutional and political sense, but we are free even from the laws
of physics. Our freedom allows us to recreate ourselves and even God.
In our words we may fly above the clouds, create and destroy worlds
and universes or travel through time itself. Time travel is quite
possible and we do it all the time; we travel in one direction, forward,
into the future. We just haven’t figured out yet how to put the
vehicle into reverse.
This total freedom of speech is really the freedom of our imagination.
We simply put the images and actions of our imagination down in
writing and that freedom of our fantasy world becomes freedom of
speech.
Ever since early childhood I have felt the enormous power and
freedom of imagination. Robert Frost speaks of being “immortally
wounded” by the line of a poem. The tragedy of the addictive
personality is that it constantly seeks to recreate that initial high of
their first intoxication or first sexual experience. In my reading and
writing I have always sought to re-experience as new and fresh that
numinous thrill of something transcendent. Whenever I attempted to
write, I sought words as weapons to immortally wound the souls of
others. I wanted my words to by that exquisite virgin child dancing,
secretly, shamelessly and seductively, naked before the gaping eyes
and speechless opened mouths of a throng of aged renunciates
stunned motionless yet trembling at the sight of what they have
always longed for yet never dared imagine much less speak.
Innocence is ripe with a lust all its own.
This delirious freedom is always here, surrounding us. This freedom is
our Buddha nature. We are always free but we must work to escape
the illusion that we are not free. We are fish seeking the ocean, failing
to realize that it surrounds us.
How grateful I am that there are Hemingways and Stevens and Frosts
in this world of mine. My world would have been so much more
impoverished without their words. Yet it is not enough for me to read
their words and be wounded by them. I want to write such words and
wound all future generations. But I cannot imitate their words for that
is their voice and style. There can only be one Hemingway, one
Stevens, one Frost. The world has no need for two. I must find my own
voice and style. How many voices are there in any given reality? How
many heroes are there in any given universe in any given eternity?
Even God’s voice of many waters is one voice with a style all its own.
Perhaps I can become the water of many voices. Do you think God
would mind if I do that? Would you, the reader, mind?
I shall become the waters of Babylon, and on my banks you shall lay
down your instruments and weep. I shall be a river flowing out of
Eden. I shall be a red sea and a sea of reeds to swallow all the
pharaohs. I shall be the deep of the frolicking leviathan. I shall be the
Mississippi for your raft adventures. I shall be your crossed Rubicon. I
shall become the water of many voices and in it I shall find my voice
at last.