Word: creakings
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...favorite recordings, which ranged from former Cabaret Voltaire member Chris Watson’s work as a BBC nature recording engineer to composer Pierre Henry’s “Variations for a Door and a Sigh,” a 45-minute work made from the creak of a door and a gasp...
...authentic, provincial flavor?street-side Thai eateries instead of Pizza Huts. But it's no bush-league backwater. In fact, no beach in Asia can claim quite the bloodline. Dotted with palaces, steeped in history, Hua Hin celebrates the grandeur of old Siam. You feel it with every creak of the teak floorboards at the old Railway Hotel, built at the Queen's command as a guesthouse for royal parties. Nowadays, it's been reborn as the grandiose 200-room Sofitel Central Hua Hin Resort. Yet the enormous balconies, antique furnishings and white colonial architecture still reflect the unique style...
...from cross-country skiing while there. As they glided through the mountains on snowshoes, they were thrilled to sight golden eagles, bighorn sheep and herds of elk. Les, 67, recommends Vail because "you can start at 10,000 ft. and get into the wooded areas, listen to the aspens creak as the trunks move back and forth, and enjoy the freedom and spectacular views." I'll probably never give up skiing, because shooting down a steep mountain is utterly thrilling. But I certainly plan to keep on snowshoeing...
However, many of his poems, perhaps his strongest ones, manage to tap into some universality. He expresses fears and insecurities with which all people can relate yet which are rarely expressed. In his poem "Creak," he voices the insecurities of writing a love letter. "I wrote a note to her/That splattered into rhyme against my wishes./So I scrunched it up and said if it hits the bin/There's going to be a relationship." Later in his poem titled "The Room," he verbally paints the image of a room, once occupied by a son, which is now left empty...
...working his field much the way his forebears did three centuries ago--tugging at the yoke of a Belgian draft mule. The only sounds he hears are the snap of a rein across the mule's hindquarters, the simple mechanical whirl of his corn-harvesting machine and the creak of his oak-plank wagon as he hauls another stack of feed corn to his son-in-law's silo. Like their ancestors, Jacob and his kin light their farmhouses with gas lanterns and drive carriage horses--never automobiles--back and forth to town...