inspired by Hemi
What makes a good voice?
The story may be entertaining or enlightening. It should be humane. It may be about everyday things, or those we don't see everyday, or perhaps haven't yet been revealed.
The tone should vary, to accentuate and give meaning to the text - to keep the interest of a listener who has become jaded, overloaded and may need some help. It is the mark of the orator (not the public official), or the soloist (not the chorister).
I have been inspired by J.K. Baxter, who transforms the common experience of everyday things into a heightened one, laden with meanings, eg:
That grove of pines I prayed so long among
For the first six months, have been cut down for firewood
Or to make the floorboards of houses in the suburbs
Where children get square eyes. A dollar a hundred feet
Seems too small a price to get
For those green candelabra of the Ascension
Whose flames were pollen, but now the grove is gone
I go instead barefoot on the bulldozed clay,
Thinking, 'The pines are Pharisees,
They shove their solemn tough-barked crowns to Heaven
'But nothing grows under then.' One day on that ripped hill,
If God desires it, there will be a house
With Maori rafters, and over its doorway painted these words:
'Te Wairua o Te Kare o Nga Wai.'
(from Autumn Testament, 1972)
The story may be entertaining or enlightening. It should be humane. It may be about everyday things, or those we don't see everyday, or perhaps haven't yet been revealed.
The tone should vary, to accentuate and give meaning to the text - to keep the interest of a listener who has become jaded, overloaded and may need some help. It is the mark of the orator (not the public official), or the soloist (not the chorister).
I have been inspired by J.K. Baxter, who transforms the common experience of everyday things into a heightened one, laden with meanings, eg:
That grove of pines I prayed so long among
For the first six months, have been cut down for firewood
Or to make the floorboards of houses in the suburbs
Where children get square eyes. A dollar a hundred feet
Seems too small a price to get
For those green candelabra of the Ascension
Whose flames were pollen, but now the grove is gone
I go instead barefoot on the bulldozed clay,
Thinking, 'The pines are Pharisees,
They shove their solemn tough-barked crowns to Heaven
'But nothing grows under then.' One day on that ripped hill,
If God desires it, there will be a house
With Maori rafters, and over its doorway painted these words:
'Te Wairua o Te Kare o Nga Wai.'
(from Autumn Testament, 1972)