This poem is an attempt to understand the dynamics of language, spoken or written.
Are words boxes of information to make and transfer meaning from one mind to another?
The answer is Yes. But are words more than that? The answer is Yes. Words engage not
only the mind but the emotions, creating an gestalt of experience. Words have histories,
pedigrees, family trees. Words denote a specific thing but often carry connotations which
add depth and breadth to what the word evokes. The sound or look of a word can also add
to the experience.  We live in a language ocean, perhaps a language swamp.  We need to be
aware of how words work on us, in us, and through us.

Now the poem:    Wurds.  Wirdz.  Werds.

Can we experience texture from text?

First, Helen Keller famously touched
tactility, cool, viscous slippering flow,
then, Anne Sullivan pressed into her hand
the abstract signifiers: w-a-t-e-r,
cuneiform, a proxy for the real.

The famous scene from the Miracle Worker when Anne Sullivan holds young
Helen Keller’s hand under pump water and then marks w-a-t-e-r in the palm
of Helen’s hand, thus making a connection between the thing and the sign
(word) for the thing.

Texture before text.  The felt experience precedes the verbal experience.

Can the smack of words,  words are physical, impinging ear or eye
written or spoken,
against eye or ear,
put us in proximity to the actual?

Or do words just approximate,
a sign for what is not really there?

3 related words:         

proxy = a stand-in (representative)
proximity = close at hand
approximate = fairly close but not right on the mark

Fox Hollow.
Rabbit Run.
Malibu.
Infinity.

You probably will not see a fox in a subdivision called Fox Hollow or a rabbit in Rabbit Run.
These descriptive names evoke a past era.  Is Malibu a car or a city in California? And who
has the nerve to name a brand of automobile endless space/time.

A word sounds. Or in light.  ‘sounds’  –  ‘light’  =  words seen or heard
We Nike fast toward sense,  Nike = Greek goddess of victory, associated with speed – words as only containers of information
defining the infinite, define = reduce to one limited meaning,  infinite = not finite – not limited
sizing seized minutia,  sizing = act of fitting something to a proper, manageable size,
ignoring the weight of whispers,
we wait for weightier syllables
carved from stone silence,
thrown hard against the inner drum,
black signs wrested from white light
shoved with force against the retina
at lightning speed, ocular shocks,
the mind resorting to sorting  the mind must sort through & interpret printed signs (letters) & spoken sounds   
sound from sound,
syllable from syllable,
word from word
discerning distinguishments, i.e. distinguishing ‘ough’ in ‘cough’ from ‘ough’ in ‘through’
‘duck down’ from ‘duck down,same words, different meaning
for instants, for instance.  same sounds, different meanings   

Now we ‘attend,’ to the tactile, kinetic experience, the mechanics of speaking

Attend, feel mouthed words,
throat-harp strings singing,
tremendous and tremulous,  tremendous = cause trembling, tremulous = trembling
tongue waggling rapid-fire
among the dangers of teeth,
bitten words sentenced to life,
cheeks full of shadows,
lip-shaped syllables,
salt drifts from word wounds,
bitter chases sweet,
sour penetrates logistical fog,
extreme pleasure dissipates
in the wake of analysis.

Wurds.   Wirdz.   Werds.  These misspellings sound sound like the real thing.  

Why   w-o-r-d-s?

habit  –  history  –  pedigree.  Words have long histories & etymological ancestors

Words are wired  words carry evocative, provacative energy
to carry current.

Vivify.  to bring to life, to liven up – words can destroy, words can deconstruct
Mortify.  to make dead, degrade, embarrass, shame

Words birth worlds.  Words can call into being something new
Words take worlds away.

In the beginning was the word.  from The Gospel According to John, chapter 1, verse 1

FINIS – fade to silence. Old movies & books used to end with the Latin finis

*See above: define, infinite, all having to do with the Latin ‘fin’ –  limit, end