“Heard on the Wind” soundscape in Adelaide

From 7th September until 9th October, my soundscape, “Heard on the Wind”, commissioned by Adelaide City Council, is playing in the breezeway at 25 Pirie Street.

The breezeway at 25 Pirie Street is surrounded by texts: memorial plaques, notices regarding public safety and well-being, tightly-crafted slogans of the Smart City Studio windows and Enterprise Adelaide brochures. By definition, silent, largely ignored by passers-by, 25 Pirie Street : Heard on the Wind gives voice to these texts using digital sampling technology. 18 text-to-speech synthesisers read the texts, generating a base set of 500 voice samples, that were sped up and slowed down, reversed and delayed, repitched and translated into solos, conversations, choirs, snatches of melody, the heard out loud, and the barely heard at all.

It runs for about 45 minutes.

Here is the ACC link: http://www.cityofadelaide.com.au/…/publ…/soundscape-program/

But if you can’t get there, or if you like to listen to it in your own time, you can hear the whole sequence on my Bandcamp page:
https://iangibbins.bandcamp.com/…/25-pirie-street-heard-on-…

“Dial Tone” awarded 3rd place in Health Poetry Prize

My poem Dial Tone came third in the University of Canberra 2017 Health Poetry Prize! Congrats to winner Joe Dolce and runner-up, Vanessa Procter.

“The University of Canberra Health Poetry Prize aims to inspire others through poetry to consider the journey to live life well. The poem may be focussed on mental or physical health, and can investigate what ‘living life well’ means. This may include barriers to living a well life, promoting a life lived well, or describe the experience of, or transition to, living life well.

The prize-winning and short-listed poems will be published by the University. Meanwhile, here is an excerpt from Dial Tone:

Redial 1

The message mentioned belongings. I comply, search afterglow
for jasmine, rose, orange blossom, hands fallow at my sides,
on tabletop, in rarely hostile earth. “Good to have you back.”
But I cannot be sure. Our arrival is delayed by asymptote, slowed
by imperfection. Bloodshot meanders skirt lawns to be mown,
drains to clear, vermin to evict. Amid cartons and packing crates,
window shades jealous our skin, discontent curtains our perspective.
We substitute bluff with categoric denial, switch to silent mode.

Click here to see more about the Prize.