Yes, you guessed it, I am merely referring to a writer's voice, an expression one often hears. More specifically to a poet's literary or poetic voice. Every writer has a literary voice. Most of what I say here could apply to poetry or prose writers.
Like singing voices, some literary voices are immediately indentifiable, and others less so. You do not mistake Ray Charles for Elvis Presley, but you immediately recognize both voices. A uniqueness of voice is one important attribute for recording stars. A guy who sounds just like another star isn't going anywhere, except as a novelty act at the state or county fair.
There is one huge difference between a literary voice and a singing voice--the building blocks of the singing voice in musicians' slang are called chops, more precisely the attunement of the vocal chords to their surroundings. You are born with the voice with which you must sing. It can be develoved to its maximum singing potential, but the basic tonal tambre of it can never change with development. You can purify that sound, though not some quality within it which is hard to isolate and describe. This is you. The singer. Your identity.
Does something translate to natural chops for poets as well? Perhaps the environment and upbringing she got stuck with the way the singer gets stuck with his genetic voice, are her natural chops. Some would say, wellll (I pulled out of Pittsburg a-rollin' down that eastern seaboard), the brain she got stuck with is her chops, man.
I don't care. All I know is she can develop her voice so that she can sing both opera and rock-a-billy, and anything in between with unpredictable results, if she works hard enough. A poet's voice is much bigger than just a few genes in the neck. It develops as you write more, though traces of it are always evident in the juvenilia, just like the genetic voice. There it is--you again, your identity, the quality that makes your voice identifiable out of the masses.
There is probably not a single poem of Wallace Stevens that one familiar with he and Frost, would mistake for a Frost poem, and vice versa. Those two voices do not meditate upon a rooster or a snowman the same way at all, let me tell you.
It is not yoursef that you are trying to find. Those two gentlemen above were not trying to find themselves. They were making language. Nothing else could satisfy them. They made language for itself, and for their moment. In this they might find themselves, not the other way around. That is where your voice lies--in the language you make with it, not somewhere outside of it. You have more freedom and lattitude than the singer. You can change your style immediately. An opera singer has a heck of a time trying to sing rock-abilly acceptably, because he has to remember how to sing wrong and then "un-apply" years of training. As poets, we are in the most versatile and flexible art of all, yet we ask only the same thing of it--affect us mightily somehow.
Make enough language and the voice emerges. You can tamper with it. Its tambre is not set genetically.


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