by Halifax
The tone arm balances, hovering, and clicks.
Clicks. Then dips, sips,
The shell drinking up the sound.
The stylus tip slips into place
Tightly following the trace
Crisp popping and sibilance
Crackles out a Ouija séance
The pickup hums and record moves
Elliptical needle guided by the grooves
Planchette diamond on black
Finds the silence and answers back.
Voices from beyond their graves
Drawn to the medium in analog waves.

The copper coil apports semblance
Flexing with the spider’s vibrance
Singing bright,
Under the Moonlight.
What answers serves
Line blurs,
Riding the acoustic nerves
~~~Received, received, received, received, received, received, received, received~~~~
Received the sound
Arm resets and rests
Plinth and platter align.
Light and pitch retire.
The afterimage, discrete ghosts in grays
floats behind the eyes, the mind and stays.

0 thoughts on “Analogue

  1. Holy alighting lore in fiendishly aloof xanudu! I was adamantly possessed by the polish in this poem.
    As an older generation X, I remember well growing up on records and 45’s…everything from Disney storybook/records to singles in the paper sleeves. My wife’s still got a bunch of hits and i like to play ’99 red balloons’ in German.
    Early recorded sounds from Edison and Clair de Lune?…are haunting indeed beyond grave, and poem ends with not sound but image of ‘discrete ghosts’. The next time i play a record i’m doin’ it in the daytime dammit…i’m spooked! No white(boy)noise for me.
    ‘Hoo-rah’ for the couplets. I was particularly drawn to the use of ‘resets’ and ‘rests’…one word minus a letter of the other one…i’m sure they have a name for those kind of words/usage. Did digital kill the analog star? Apparently not. Good one maestro!

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