Wow this is fun. Wow. This is fun. Wow This is. Fun. wow this is. fun. fun. fun. fun.

In his final chapter in The Embodiment of Knowledge, Williams opens by telling readers that “Nature’s final command is: Do not waste.” If ever I have personally seen this demonstrated, it was when I went to the Jaap Blonk exhibit at MOCA a few weeks ago. In case you are unfamiliar with Jaap Blonk, he is a “sound artist.” When Professor Lunberry first told us this, I imagined some sort of DJ spinning electronic music at a rave. What I found in Blonk was much different. I was mesmerized at the ways in which Blonk uses syllables and sounds that are familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He recycled a phrase in so many various tones and inflections that the familiar sounded unfamiliar, and his stringing together of non-sensical syllables—when repeated in particular patterns—became suddenly familiar.

For example, his “As I Was Saying” recycles variations of the phrase, “What I says to him, I says, What I says to him I says, well, what I says to him…” and so forth until the words—which are so familiar—are recycled into phrases that actually have no meaning. This can be quite disconcerting, if not downright infuriating. (My dog sits staring at the chaos of noise that surrounds the background as I type this out, listening to this particular Blonk clip again). What I find interesting about this particular piece is its similarity to what Williams does with his second stanza in “To a Poor Old Woman”:

They taste good to her

They taste good

to her. They taste

good to her

Shifting the way readers see and/or hear a particular phrase—through sheer repetition and repositioning of the words—calls to readers and listeners in a way that begs for attention. It truly creates newness from a phrase that might otherwise be stale or completely overlooked. In doing this, it is sure that no words go to waste.

Another of the most memorable Blonk acts at MOCA was the “cheek synthesizer.” He began by explaining that we all have one, but we may have forgotten how to use it in adulthood. What is this synthesizer? It’s the use of your hands, cheeks, and forced breaths to produce sounds mimicking flatulence. So, basically, Blonk transforms into that fat kid in your elementary class who sat in the back, palms to mouth—hand under armpit—making pooting sounds. (Who’d have thought I’d say “poot” in a scholarly work? Thanks, Blonk). How does this man get paid to do this, right? It’s actually, when you think of it, fairly incredible. He has taken a simple knowledge of sound and bodily influence that we all know from childhood and not let it go to waste—just as Williams suggests: “Life is to confine our energy and for us to expand our view” (186). Who says this view can’t expand back into something so simplistic from childhood? Does expansion always necessarily indicate forward motion? Must our expanded view take on the weight of the world?

I think Williams would say no. Look at this poem from Spring and All:

So much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens

It is interesting how this poem opens. A red wheelbarrow? “So much depends upon” that? Perhaps this poem is illustrating Williams’ point that it is so crucial for us to be able to expand our view—even if this view simply includes things we might have otherwise overlooked. After all, isn’t that what expanding our view is all about: finding the overlooked, the unseen?

In the end, I think Jaap Blonk’s work showed ingenuity in recreating sounds I already knew into art with which I was completely unfamiliar. In doing this, he certainly expanded my own views.

To hear Blonk, please click on the titles of his works--which will link you directly to his website.