This is a sound poem. I am trying to recreate the experience of listening to my friend, Nicla, watering her garden in Puglia, Italy. Her home is on a terraced piece of land, so she climbs up and down stone steps, dragging her hose to little plots of fruit trees and flowers.
Nicla Waters The Garden at Monte Zuzzu at Sunset
scuffle-scuff-scuff-scuff
kiss-kiss-kiss
pitter-pitter-pitter-pittle-pitt—
scuffle-scuffle-scuff-scuff
kiss-kiss-kiss
ssssssssssssssss— ssssssssssssss—
scritch-scritch
scritch-scritch
rattle-rattle-rattle,
lizzle-lizzle-lizzle
lizzle-lizzle-lizzle
scuff
fill, bink-
bink-bink-
bink-bink-
ad-bink.
Squeak, squeak, squeak,
scuffle-scuffle,
scritch-scritch,
drip,
drip, drip, drip-drip
drip
drip—
This goes on for over an hour.
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