This week, and the following two weeks, we are mostly going to listen. Having discussed orality and the “iconicity” of oral/aural performance, we will now discuss the aural impact of some icons of sound poetry.

For starters, I’d like you to read Steve McCaffery’s short essay about the history of sound poetry, which can be found on ubuweb: Sound Poetry: A Survey.

Feel free to explore the various links in McCaffery’s piece, but in particular I’d like you to read the page on Kurt Schwitters and listen to his performance of the Ursonate (as much as you can!), and perhaps a few of the tracks performed by Die Schwindlinge, including the first one, “What a B What a B What a Beauty.” Also, Henri Chopin’s essay “The New Media,” and the first part of this track by Chopin, which contains “Rouge” (1956), “Dynamisme intégral” (1973), and “French Lesson” (1974). Then, Jackson Mac Low: his description of The Young Turtle Assymetries, and this track from Doings: Assorted Performance Pieces. On this page of bpNichol poems, sample what you like but definitely listen to “Pome Poem,” “The Alphabet Game,” and “Interrupted Nap,” from Ear Rational. Then also this track, “Goodbye,” from the The Four Horsemen, a performance group that included McCaffery, bpNichol, Paul Dutton, and Rafael Barreto-Rivera. Finally, please listen to John Cage’s piece “Radio Music.”

In counterpoint to these avant-garde sound poetry/ sound art pieces, all produced by men, take a listen to these recordings of katajjaq or Inuit throat-singing, an traditional vocal game performed by Inuit women, and this recording of Evangelical glossolalia or speaking in tongues. How does context affect the way you perceive these performances?

UPDATE: After our discussion last night, I thought I’d add some links to videos and audio tracks produced using sampling techniques, which demonstrate how audio/video recording technology (analog or digital) allows vocal sound art a “separation from the human voice.” In this case, after the voice has been recorded (for example, after George W. Bush has given his state of the union speech), it can be manipulated and edited to produce a new poetic artifact.

I particularly like how this “plunderphonics” remix of Michael Jackson (by John Oswald) accentuates the non-verbal parts of Jackson’s singing—which were already a prominent (and innovative) part of the original recordings.

Print Friendly, PDF & Email

  1.   alee909

    In trying to understand the readings/listenings from this week, I just had a bunch of questions while reflecting on them; they may or may not be related to each other. . . I didn’t really understand everything but I’ll take a stab at some questions. . . I’m not sure if it is helpful, but I just wanted to bring up the question of purpose when talking about sound poetry as a stand-alone art and sound poetry in relation to literature. Do you think it serves the same purpose as literature, if you can say that literature or sound poetry have any purpose at all? I was just reading the survey essay and listening to the first couple of tracks on the blog. . . I was asking myself what kind of vision these artists have and what goes through their mind when they make pieces like they made. Also, is sound poetry ‘post-modern’ or ‘post-structuralist?’ We talk about these categorizations a lot in theory and I still don’t even know what post-modernism or post-structuralism is, really. On page 7 of the survey essay, Chopin is described as decomposing and recomposing a word. Another question this made me think of was, is deconstruction actually deconstruction? In this example, is Chopin really ‘decomposing’ and ‘recomposing’ a word by technologically assaulting it? Who is to say that he is really doing that? The word still exists after his experiment; can’t you make the argument that his experiment was really harmless? I feel like academics take this issue of ‘deconstruction’ way too seriously.

  2.   Sarah

    Before listening to these clips I’d really never heard any “sound poetry.” One of the things I found most interesting was the difference in the sounds from one piece to the next. A lot of them, like “What A Beauty,” sounded more like music than poetry to me, so I had a hard time distinguishing between the idea of them sounding like songs but being poetry. What really makes them “poetry” as opposed to spoken song lyrics or an acapella piece?

    Another thing I noticed was that some of the pieces, such as the “Ursonate,” the Inuit throat-singing and “Rouge,” didn’t sound like poetry in the “traditional” sense at all – they were more like repetitions of sound meant to evoke a particular feeling or emotion in the listener (I almost made an error here and wrote reader instead of listener. By habit I suppose..what does that say?)

  3.   Nick Matthews

    “It is, above all else, a practice of freedom”(McCaffery).

    This statement by McCaffery captures best my interpretation of sound poetry. In my first exposure to it I can’t help but fight against the confines of a literary mind. Attempting to comprehend every dissonant sound, every echoing cry, and every indecipherable utterance is a lost cause. Once again, it is a practice in “listening” as opposed to hearing—in the acceptance that perhaps the “true purpose” is in understanding by not attempting to understand.

    This brings me back to the notion of freedom in sound poetry. It is a freedom of expression, an exercise in performance without the bindings of speech. It is almost primordial—the most visceral expression humanly possible. Sound poetry moves beyond the confines of any poetry I’ve been taught, and exists uniquely in its moments of performance.

    Lastly, focusing on the Innuit throat-singing, and building off of Sarah’s point, I was heavily reminded of “beat-boxing”. The background behind “katajjaq” ties these two even closer. Two women, facing off against each (yet simultaneously complementing each other) to create a sonic language/ beat. Specifically, the final performance ” #8, “Melodic Katajjait” showcases the human voice’s versatility. This freedom to create, to meld the mind with the unique attributes of human sound, reveals how sound poetry utilizes the sonic instruments inherent in us all.


  4.   Najila

    One thing that kept sticking out in my mind about this subject matter is the idea of language. Not the language of sound or poetry but of actual language. Is poetry universal like music? Many people will and have loved a song that’s in a different language – one that they don’t even understand – for whatever reason. Does poetry work the same way or do you have to be able to understand the words in order to appreciate it. This is probably where sound poetry comes in. By providing the focus on the sound rather than the printed word, I feel that the listener will find a way to appreciate the art form. Listening to Schwitters’s Ursonate, for instance, and then the “What a B what a B What a Beauty” piece, I first made notes of how Schwitters was rolling his r’s and repeating the same letter or phrases/words. Then in the “What a Beauty” track, the fact that the B is repeated throughout the piece – that it IS the piece – cemented the idea of universality for me. I could imagine someone who didn’t understand english listening to that track and feeling initially how I felt listening to the Ursonate tracks. By listening to the tracks over and over again I was able to focus on the vocals and the meaning in the letters rather than the words alone.

    Just as Schwitters writes “Letters, of course, give only a rather incomplete score of the spoken sonata. As with any printed music, many interpretations are possible * As with any other reading, correct reading requires the use of imagination.” There are a number of ‘correct’ readings as there are imaginations. Like Sarah wrote in the above entry, I, too, had would start to write “reader” many times (and not just for this post) but had to stop myself. However, perhaps it’s not an incorrect choice of word – you can read something that you listen to but it with a different interpretation of the word.

  5.   Sean Rogers

    Aren’t we all just a bump in the head away from sounding like this and I don’t mean this facetiously. What happens with a dissolution of brain function? Aphasia or something like that in a lot of cases. The language and I guess the identity that is its progeny are so tenuously keeping us what we are. That guy’s funny, that girl’s peculiar etc. etc. Some of it can be with a choice of clothing or maybe a product of concocting syllabic nonsense but it’s all a contrivance bred of our ability to manipulate language in some sense, I think. I don’t know but these sound poems that are undressing the nature of the signs belonging to nothing more than convention can’t really be done by the literate. None of it seemed genuine, particularly the more eccentric and illogical pieces. It seems specious to present these noises as something organic when the performer is aware of what they’re doing. The speaking in tongues were said with tonality and punctuation, so apparently God has his own linguistic rules but they’re rules nonetheless. If you’re looking for freedom take a spill down the stairs or wait for an aneurysm but this doesn’t lead us back to freedom just the way living life as a perpetual pedestrian won’t undo the car. The piece “Radio Music” resonated a little as it sounded like a car radio on seek and I suppose that’s what sound is doing. It’s seeking meaning and so to give us a chance to decipher it we have to attach signs and convention to it as part of its teleological evolution. Humans and sound are in a joint venture for meaning so this strikes me as more nihilistic than liberating. Just try looking at a pissed off baby waiting for the help from confused parents grabbing both a diaper and a bottle, not sure which end of the process to satiate because the kid is in fact hungry mostly because he just shit himself. Unfortunately for him he’s limited by sound and consequently limited by the grown ups who’ve been scouring Spock for a translation.

  6.   Sean Rogers

    Loud indecipherable chatter turned bridled murmur turned collective hush as the lights dim and the stage is back lit with the insidious red orange of late summer sunsets of the sort that stop traffic. A hipster in skinny jeans and gender bending t shirt of a contrivance beyond the most perspicacious of curious listeners. Listeners that are nervous at the prospect of what this strange performer might do as his slight frame and and tobacco battered complexion blur in the radial light. He confronts the microphone and swipes the bangs rigid with grease from his forehead. He squeezes his eyes and says into the microphone with an intensity that intimidates the audience into silencing the residual pixillated phonemes and punctuating texts now syntactically suspended: “I call this piece ‘Melancholy Flatulence’” He lifts the microphone out of the stand and makes his about-face exposing the skinny charcoal jeans as having no back pockets or back of anything at all. He twists his right arm around his waist, holding the microphone to the exposed orifice. He bends over while looking straight at the back curtain-why give these people the satisfaction- and lets his body growl until one speaker let’s out a strident and aleatory spike to punctuate the performance. Disdainfully, he drops the microphone and the thud reverberates throughout the back room of the bar sequestering audience from performer. A final glare and then a strut offstage with Shakurian swag.

  7.   jaygwelsh

    In regards to what Sarah was asking – concerning whether to label the pieces as song or poetry – I think they’re both sides of the same coin (permission to dust off an old cliché). After all, music and poetry both share similar – if not identical – techniques for grabbing an audience. Both make use of repetition, rhythm, speed, and other malleable ideas in order to make the world grow. True, music uses notes and poetry uses words, but those are nothing more than units of measurement, nothing more than attempts to record the creator’s effort.

    Using the recordings as examples, we can find poets using the opportunity to craft an orchestraic feel. We see this in the Jackson Mac Low piece in “Doings”, where there is a mixture of several vocal tracks, a sound reminiscent of a band warming up. We also see this in “What A Beauty”, where there is – for the lack of a better word – a choir performing the poem. It has a chanting vibe that simultaneously seems to jump up and down the musical scale. I personally feel that this exemplifies an idea I’ve held for a long time: that poets and singers and other vocal people have recognized that their voice serves as an instrument. As to what kind of instrument, maybe a wind instrument? Bad jokes aside, I see sound poetry as an attempt to reconcile the estranged couple that is the spoken word and music.

    And as for Sarah saying that the Inuit throat-singing doesn’t strike one as being conventional poetry, I agree. However, a closer listen points out that the throat-singing is really just a manipulation of sound to convey meaning. And when you break a traditional poem down to the words, and you break those words down to the letters, and you break those letters down, you’re left with sound as well in the end. Although I must admit that the throat-singing makes as much sense as me coughing while I have the flu (however, it can be argued that linguistically-speaking, the English language with its arbitrary creation of words makes just as little sense).

    As for what Nick says – comparing Inuit throat-singing to beat-boxing – I think that’s a fair comparison. While both pastimes convey little meaning in their substance, it is more the delivery that matters. As I mentioned at the beginning of this, they harness the sounds like a composer does with notes – making use of tempo and repetition and rhythm – in order to make meaning out of not so much the substance as much as the style.

    On a side-note, this talk of beat-boxing and throat-singing makes me wish that Doug E Fresh would try an album made solely of Inuit throat-songs.

    And before I sign off, I just wanted to point out that some of the pieces, notably the Inuit songs and Jackson Mac Low’s work, have various allusions to nature. This is seen in Jackson’s work where he seems to imitate the birds while he’s describing them at the same time. As for the Inuit songs, the allusions can be seen not only in the titles (“Imitation of the Cries of Geese”), but also the sounds reminiscent of the cold, desolate world that pervades their cultures. So my question is this: could sound poetry be defined more as a deconstruction of organized language or as an imitation (or even embellishment) of primitive nature? Or doesn’t it even matter how its defined?


  8.   Sean Nicholson

    First off I would like to start the post by stating my pleasure that our class on orality has moved towards the study of more orality as opposed to literature.
    The Chopin work “Rouge” gave me that strange sensation of when you say a word too many times and it begins to lose meaning until after a while it no longer sounds like it is even a word (For example Black Sheep, when Chris Farley and David Spade {high on nitrous} keep saying the word ‘road’ until they have totally distorted its original form). I found it interesting though as the poem went on the word began to take on the sounds of something akin to motorcycles and chainsaws. When the second part of the Chopin began I thought that my neighbors were going to file a noise complaint for all the strange sounds that were emanating from my computer.
    The track “Goodbye” by the Four Horseman was more enjoyable to me than most of the other sound poems. It reminded me of an improv show that I saw at Second City in Toronto over the summer. At the show and in this track there were many aspects that seemed rehearsed and planned out but there was also a fair amount of improvisation. Rehearsal cannot prevent improvisation but only make it less likely. During “Goodbye” one of the speakers starts to say a word stumbles, quickly catches himself and then continues; this is an improvisation unique to this performance.
    In the end I’ve come to the conclusion that trying to interpret sound poetry is like trying to interpret the shapes that Windows Media Player put on my screen as it played. There may be sounds and shapes that are recognizable, but in the end I feel that I’m not getting as much out of the experience as I would with literature or film.

    Question for Sean Rogers, was your second posting an original piece? I used my trick for catching students plagiarizing papers and put the first sentence into Google. But with your posting, nothing came up. So if you read this before class please respond and if not I look forward to finding out in class.

  9.   dsykes

    As many others in the class, this was also my first exposure to sound poetry. I find strong association with Sean’s description of the sensation of a word losing meaning after repetition. I struggled with this while attempting to analyze the sound poetry, as the loss of meaning led me to attempt to reconstruct my associations and the meaning of words imposed upon my ability to experience the work at face value. As a result, I was better able to experience and connect with the work of Kurt Schwitters in Ursonate. Without the burden of understanding the sounds, I accepted them at face value as phonemes, void of symbolic value, and in the most quintessential state. I was reminded of my own childish tendency (when in just the right mood) to pronounce a single word or phrase over and over again to myself, changing the tone of voice or adding a weak attempt at an accent, repeating them over and over until finally busting out into laughter over the stupidity of the entire experience and the sensation of forcing the word to lose meaning and develop other connotations.
    On a complete tangent, I remember once being told that women and men are able to listen to conversations differently. I am unsure of the reliability of my source, or of its validity, but the claim was that if two conversations were simultaneously told to a listener, women were able to remember several points from both conversations more easily than men. I don’t remember the source of this information, and do not believe I was referred to the actual study. However, the audio of the four horsemen reminded me of this claim, as I realized that the nature of my listening was to tune out the existing thread of speech and jump into listening to the new voice. I attempted to alter this tendency, but tuning out the new thread of speech left me with the same sense of missing out on a part of the experience. I believe this was the intent of the work; rather than the interpretation of meaning, the inability to take in all of the information resulted in a loss of control in the listening process, and I lost the ability to comprehend either when attempting to acknowledge both.
    The Inuit throat-singing provided me with an experience that clarified my exposure to sound poetry. I became aware of the conflict it provided- certain sounds reminded me of constipation while others resonated an eerie sense of tribal chanting. I was terrified, but felt like laughing at the same time. The conflict of emotive impact in sounds appears to be the dynamic of sound poetry- to constantly question ourselves, the way these influences impact us and the manner in which their relation to one another can alter our associations.

  10.   nahmed

    I had some trouble understanding McCaffery’s piece on sound poetry. Despite that I’ll still post in hopes of clearing up some of my confusion!

    The idea that sound poetry is based on, generally speaking is freedom. Freedom both structurally and phonetically. It didn’t seem like such a foreign idea until I came across Hugo Ball’s idea that sound poetry can be poetry without words. He states that ” the balance of vowels is weighed and distributed soley according to the values of the beginning sequence.” I’m not quite sure what that means, but I had a hard time accepting the idea.

    What I found even more interesting was Heidsieck’s action poems. He would uses the noise of subways and taxis to create his poetry. I found myself, like Sarah then questioning “is this really poetry, or music?” In many of the tracks we listened to, like that of Chopin, all I hear are sounds, no words, no letters…. just sounds. In my mind, that constitutes the piece being music, not poetry.

    A lot of the recordings sounded very similar to voice exercises for singers. That may sound strange, but that is what I thought of while listening to them. Chopin’s pieces also sounded very hypnotizing, constantly repetitive and one of the pieces were filled with just sounds. The piece that was filled with sounds, reminded me of a soundscape CD, the ones that people use to relax or help them fall asleep. What a B….Beauty was very good in my opinion, but as stated previously made me automatically think of music.I had the same reaction to Jackson’s piece as well as Poem Poem. However, the definition that I have in my mind as “sound poetry” would definitely choose Jackson, Glossolalia, and Poem Poem as a fitting example.

    OR perhaps I’m so deep into the poetry culture as we know it that my mind doesn’t allow me to see that far beyond.

  11.   coreyfrost

    Great posts, everybody. I think it might be a good idea for us to have a “define poetry” conversation. A couple of you asked why we should consider wordless sound art to be poetry rather than music. Well, good question. Perhaps it doesn’t ultimately matter (that statement in itself needs a lot of qualification—matter to whom? when?), but it is useful sometimes to define terms, so: why is this “sound poetry” as opposed to just “sound”?

    I was also intrigued by a few other comments, such as James’ observation about imitating nature, and Sean R’s comment that these sound poems didn’t seem “genuine.” Compared to the utterances of people who can’t control their voices, for example (like people with verbal tics)? Very interesting- how does the “genuine” fit into the definition of poetry?

  12.   Joshua Lindenbaum

    It seems as if these sound poets have the desire to regress to the past. A poetic form that has gone on way before any alphabet ever existed. Calling any of these poets “futuristics” is ironic considering the aforementioned statement. It would be more appropriate to call them “pastists.” Besides the desire to recapture their foundation (the past), these sound poets are also compensating for the restrictive nature of language, by expressing themselves in a form that is free of semantic bondage: sound. “I just can’t put it into words,” ‘But can you put “it” into sounds?’

    Maybe words are not enough. Well, words are sounds put together, but they have associations and standardized meanings. Sounds can only be described, but never defined. Once again, maybe words are not enough. Sometimes a yell or a grunt or a sucking of teeth may be sufficient in expressing your thoughts. Or combining different forms: sounds, words, pictures, and recordings — whatever. Do what you have to do to get the shit off your chest and off your mind.

    The last matter I would like to comment on is something called optophonectics, to which I never heard of before. Using different fonts, lines, and so on to capture the volume, pitch, and tone is a great idea. Also, using actual objects to function as text is another great idea. What constitutes text after all? Instead of having representations of things, why not have the actual things the words represent? Thhhat’s …… all, I gotz—- to saaay about thatt.

  13.   Jason G.

    In regards to Professor Frost’s question, “why is this sound poetry as opposed to just sound” I’d make the argument that these pieces are sound poetry.

    What makes them “sound poetry” is the way each sound whether the sampling of human speech or simply the twisting of the radio dial are arranged in a specific way to convey meaning. If these pieces were simply “sound” there would be no clear pattern or tone. For example in “Radio Music” at first it seems like the piece is merely the twisting of the radio dial and the sound of the stations seeping into one another. But there is a pattern to this piece the reoccurring classical music drifting in and out become more and more frantic each time it returns. The voices speaking in spanish that open the piece and resurface as the piece goes on also hold significance. These elements are used along with the drone of the radio signal to make “sound poetry”.

    In response to the second part of this question what makes poetry “genuine”, I’d make the argument that what makes poetry “genuine” or not genuine is it’s intention.

    For example you can’t throw paint against a wall and call it abstract art. Even “sound poetry” or throat singing which can seem hectic and undigestible at times has a great deal of intention behind it. To comment on the throat singing pieces, the various vocal inflections are used to convey meaning. The way those sounds make us feel, whether it be happy or a bit frightened is all very significant to the piece.

    Jason G.

  14.   gfl11131988

    Queens College
    Professor Corey Frost
    ENGL 781
    Response # 4
    George Festin Lorenzo

    Being my first exposure to sound poetry, it is definitely unique in the sense that you not only have to use your ears for this task, but also your mind. You cannot “just listen” to the words but you need one hundred percent undivided attention to really understand what the poet is saying and the real meaning behind the words. At least I do. For example, with the first listening assigned to us in this blog, we had to listen to Die Schwindlinge’s, “What a B What a B What a Beauty”. As I was listening to this, I could clearly identify specific aspects of it, such as the multiple vocals within this piece. I didn’t notice it at first, but I hear finger snaps in the background in between lyrics and that itself does not jump out to me.
    I would like to point out what Najila said in her post, writing, “By listening to the tracks over and over again I was able to focus on the vocals and the meaning in the letters rather than the words alone”. I completely agree to that statement and I feel that is the only way to truly understand a sound poetry piece. Without the repetition of listening to a specific piece over and over, a person would have much difficulty truly understanding it.
    A part of the first article that was submitted that I would like to discuss is in the section, “The Current Decades”. There is a very important part of it in which it is written, “The tape recorder, however, allows speech – for the firsttime in its history -a separation from voice”. The entire discussion on the utilization of a tape recorder is vital but this specific piece of information really sticks out. When people spoke, especially in acts of poetry or plays, the only way to listen to them was to intake what they were saying right there and then, live. However, with the invention of the tape recorder comes a whole new spectrum of options for listening.
    One last aspect I would like to point out is that, at the ending paragraph, it classifies this as avant-garde sound poetry. If that really is the case then perhaps this isn’t my first taste of it. Being a huge Beatles fan, the song, Revolution 9, immediately comes to mind. Considered one of, if not, the worst Beatles song of all-time, it is located on their eponymous double album, The Beatles, also known as The White Album, as their penultimate song (not to me though, I actually enjoy it). To call it an actual “song”, though, may be wrong, as it is really a hodge-podge of sounds and speaking from John Lennon, Yoko Ono, George Martin and other people affiliated with The Beatles. Clocking in at eight minutes and twenty-three seconds, it may be considered one of the first avant-garde sound poetry pieces. (The Wikipedia of the song can be found here-, and the YouTube of it can be found here-

  15.   etanzer

    I suppose I’d need to start this post with that teacher’s adage of “well children, what IS poetry?” I loved how each piece was incredibly different and yet they still shared elements of repetition, alliteration, and had a structure. The Kurt Schwitter piece “Zweiter Teil: Largo” was off-putting (especially at 6:30 in the morning), and yet I was impressed by the fact that even though it was made of nonsense sounds, it was still very structured. The “oos” were are regular intervals, the beat remained constant, whether it was filled by whole notes or half notes, and the sounds changed “on purpose.” I found it annoying because it sounded like buzzing to me, but I could appreciate the purposeful use of sound, which is the connection to written poetry—it is a purposeful use of language.

    I also wanted to respond to Nick when he described the Inuit singing to beat-boxing. I listened to the Katajjaq before I read the posts and I had the exact same reaction. I loved it, surprisingly enough. I thought the sounds were fantastic and that it had a life of its own. I see that almost as more poetic than “Pome Poem,” which I found somewhat cliché. The rhythm of the culture seemed captured by the sounds that they were making. What a great selection of sound poems!

  16.   mooneydanielle7

    Okay, I tried really hard to “get it” and be able to appreciate these as poetry. Once I heard the first clip, I really wanted to read everyone’s comments before I continued, but I resisted. For the most part I just don’t get it. I agree with Sean’s post the most. As someone who has written a lot of various types of poems in the last few years, I completely agree with Sean’s debate about whether these pieces are genuine. I continue to wonder, when Chopin was composing, writing, whatever you want to call it, his pieces, did he seriously stop and revise it and think, “oh no, a buzzing noise is totally wrong for what I’m going for– maybe a click click would sound better there?” I don’t understand how this could have a purpose. Even wordless classical compositions have purpose and evoke feelings. The feelings these pieces stirred in me were either comedy, that I just started laughing because they seemed ridiculous, or that I felt like someone was watching a movie in another room. Chopin’s track had a part that sounded like bugs crawling around in the forest. These remind me of the background music in Sesame Street or scores for movies. The sounds evoke pictures in my mind as though it were the score or sound effects from a movie. “Radio Music” sounded like someone was in a time machine and the static was when the person was traveling and the vague noises were when he approached another time. I don’t really grasp the purpose, and like others, I don’t know if I can validate this as poetry. Again, my question goes back to how the composer/writer really chooses what he wants. There must be some purpose, even if it’s just that it makes sense in the writer’s head. So in that maybe that’s what I can take from this– that it makes wonderful sense to whoever came up with it.

    I don’t mean to discount this art form, but I feel it’s beyond me. Once it was placed in the context of a game or religious chanting, I was fine with it. Perhaps I just can’t take it for what it is unless I know the purpose.

    I’m looking forward to the “what is poetry” discussion because after hearing these I need some clarification myself.

  17.   Jacquard Curtains

    Hi there, Nice post. There’s an situation using your web site in internet internet explorer, might take a look? For instance nonetheless will be the industry innovator in addition to a substantial part of others will pass over the amazing publishing for this reason challenge.

Leave a Comment

  • Listening “Literature” implies a written text. But what about the audiotext? Why do we refer to the “audience” (from the Latin audiens, listening) of a literary work? This course is about listening to literature and reading performance. ____________________________________
  • Archives

  • Meta

  • Join the blog.

    If you want to add yourself to this blog, please log in.

Spam prevention powered by Akismet

Skip to toolbar