To begin, let's rewind.
I can't remember when I first encountered the poetry of Franz Wright. A friend of mine was very impressed by him, but I didn't really latch onto him at all. There wasn't anything innately wrong, as such – it just didn't grab me as other poetry did.
2013, Punkt Festival, Kristiansand. Stephan Mathieu, David Sylvian and Christian Fennesz took to the stage in the Fønix Kino. The piece began, ambient, little microevents here and there, that evolving convolution of sound, and then came the voice. A broken voice, rasping, as much stuck inside the throat from which it came as leaving its owners lips. The kind of voice that made Tom Waits sound like a choir boy. However, the words were fascinating, and … heavily charged with an honesty that was almost unbearable, yet strangely reassuring. For ...