A Stone's Throw

practice your aim. you never know when you'll spy 2 birds at once.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

The Voice

Cities each have their own voice. It isn't any one sound, but instead one giant improvisational sound experiment from the cacophony during the day to the subtle murmurs at night. Buenos Aires sounds something like this:

The sun rises to the the rumbling collectivos and whistles of the police cars,
beeping taxis and braking trucks,
cumbia music shooting out of the speakers in the mercado,
the chatter of the Chinese as they ring up your purchases.
thundering subway trains,
cell-phone ring tones,
blind musicians singing for their pesos.

Evening arrives and the city voice shifts to
squawking pigeons positioning for the perfect roost,
the fever-pitched tenor of the football announcer,
the thud of a soccer ball hitting the cement wall.

The footfalls on pavement,
the rattle of metal doors as restaurants reopen,
the clink of glasses of Malbec,
the sizzle as asado is flipped on the hot parrilla grill,
and the crooning of Carlos Gardel from a 2nd story Tango hall.

where laughter escapes an apartment get-together
shutters closing
clubs opening
dogs barking

And finally the quiet hum of a tired city,
and the soft crack of laundry drying in the wind.


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