new zealand electronic poetry centre


 Capital of  the minimal
E m m a   N e a l e


Through the wall we hear the baby try out vowels and notes like an oboist practising arpeggios, scales, or a very small orchestra testing acoustics.

We can hear him hearing.

We can hear him trying to watch them drift against the walls and ceiling, rebound slowly like small orbs propelled by miniature flames, dissolve as smoke does, leave a small trickle of water where they have hit the floor and disappeared.

Oh! Ohhh. Oh?


Emma Neale 2004


Last updated 11 July, 2004