A voice to undo the folded lie

"In the human voice we have before us the most perfect and, in fact, the most wonderful of all instruments" - Johann Sebastian Bach.

How do you describe someone’s voice? Sometimes it is amazingly hard to manage that feat, at least with words. More often than not, we have to rely on analogies, for example describing someone’s voice like a certain singer.

Within the memory space itself, you would realize it is rather hard to recreate a person’s voice, in spite of any vividness that is possibly retained. It is as though the exact memory of the person is sometimes, barely audible. Even though you might remember what was being said, it is hard to instill the tone or texture of the voice into the bare sticks of words.

Having said that, this reminds me of Isak Dinesan’s prose, which elutes with a seamless fluidity, almost mellifluous, when voiced in the mind. (or read out loud should you have that habit). And below is an excerpt which I feel, best captures the acoustic dimension, of a poem, being read.

As they had become used to the idea of poetry, they begged: "Speak again. Speak like rain." Why they should feel verse to be like rain I do not know. It must have been, however, an expression of applause, since in Africa rain is always longed for and welcomed.

Almost, you can feel the voice becoming the narrative. Well, at least that’s what I feel when I hear something being read. But something one would have noted, textual description of voices always comes down to metaphors. Two excerpts below, the first one I find rather amusing though.

Her voice is like butter. I want to wrap myself in her voice and go to sleep.
– Time traveler’s wife

Is it her singing that enchants us or is it not rather the solemn stillness
enclosing her frail little voice?
- Josephine the singer

And, my own clumsy attempt to depict a voice, in this instance, verbally:

I would say, the voice reminds me of the lushness of summer. But having said that, my idea of summer is always spring in fact, but not exactly spring though.

No, it’s not the summer on a beach or the sound of gentle waves for that matter. Never any sea in my imagination. But more like the intensity of green and leaves. The sound of the rustling leaves. A voice that is slightly raspy.

Well let’s put it this way, you see that tree there, under the sun. Stand under it, and when there’s a wind, the sound you hear, leaves against each other, under brightness and heat of the sun, against the green, is exactly the voice I heard.