Let's go on a poem hunt!

There are things that are worth bringing back from the past: Dial-a-Poem is certainly one of these. Dial-a-Poem celebrates 50 years since John Giorno’s public art project launched in New York City. Giorno’s Dial-a-Poem connected callers to answering machines playing recordings by poets such as Allen Ginsberg, John Cage and Patti Smith. This sound walk is a tribute to Giorno's Dial-a-poem I have selected thirty poems from John Giorno amazing project Dial a Poem now in Ealing, London. So, just enjoy. All the poems from UbuWeb

On the Boston Manor Park audio trail, you’ll discover some of the wonderful sounds found here or inspired by this beautiful park in the heart of west London. The park has many natural, historical and contemporary features and places for you to explore, including the Grade 1 listed Manor House, ornamental lake, Walled Garden, meadows and woodlands. You will hear a selection of music by local artists including Little Lore, poems, bird song and other mindful soundscapes on this journey around the park. Now let’s get started! Sound walk by Giovanna Iorio Narration by Natasha Gavin and Tom Gavin Planning by Vanessa Hampton and Giovanna Iorio Music accompanying narration by Lucio Lazzaruolo & Notturno Concertante Thanks to Little Lore (https://littlelore.uk/) Jonathan Ashby and Lucio Lazzaruolo for donating music recordings.

A walk in the wonderful Kew Gardens listening to poems, sounds and music from archives and collections. You will find yourself immersed into a touching reality. This sound walk will make you laugh, think, reflect, forget. You will feel happy, sad, nostalgic, euphoric. Well known artists or unknown performers will accompany you in a journey through the garden echoes of voices taken from the past and present. Concept and idea by sound artist Giovanna Iorio. The images are Voice Portraits, spectrograms of voices by Giovanna Iorio This is a Creative Commons project and it's a free project with the purpose to share culture and knowledge.

A trubute to the Thames. (From the archive UbuWeb) An extensive iteration of Roni Horn's encyclopedic project to photograph the Thames, staged at the Art Institute of Chicago, saw the artist partner her own signature fluidity with the solidity of the modernist canon. Curated by James Rondeau, this remarkable exhibition, "Some Thames," consisted of seventy-seven framed photographs installed throughout twenty-five galleries devoted to the museum's permanent collection of modern and contemporary art, as well as in its corridors, stairwells, lobbies, offices, and library. The footnotes that Horn employs in her work usually provide textual counter-points, but in Saying Water, 1999-, a monologue that she performed at the exhibition's opening, literary allusions became discursive. Dressed in black jacket and pants, she assumed the mannered cadence of a poet, showing slides and interrogating her work, her viewers, and herself. Emphasizing in her poses the androgyny of her name, her self-conscious attitude shifted to become by turns conversational, anecdotal, and seductive. Paired with the non-narrative structure of her photography, chains of quotations linked figures as disparate as Emily Dickinson, Hank Williams, and Martin Heidegger. These accumulations reiterated a desire for transparency in the face of opaque mundane experience. "Water is the master verb," stated Horn, "an act of perpetual relation." Horn's attention to what she characterizes in her accompanying text as "the minuscule," the "aberration that is rare formation," accounts for the work's haunting presence. If we accept Horn's larger project as a sustained meditation on identity, then our task is equally charged by its endless variability. We followed the unexpected contingencies of "Some Thames" like a treasure map. The identification of Monet with water may be cliched, yet as we viewed Horn's photograph next to Matisse's Interior at Nice, 1919-20, a sunny seascape reverted to what it actually consists of, a slice of blue paint. In a gallery of German Expressionism, the sour effect of Ludwig Meidner's 1913 portrait of Max Hermann Neisse was heightened by Horn's mustard-colored photograph. Elsewhere an orange speck on a mottled Thames surface echoed the edge of Clyfford Still's abstraction 1951-52. Not only formal, Horn's edits were also conceptual. Like a liquid connoisseur, she replaced one too many Giacomettis with a photograph in which a brittle black branch matched the paintings' skeletal linearity. Abutting a Juan Gris Portrait of Picasso, 1912, the choppy river informed the jittery gestures on the canvas. Horn's glittering surfaces chimed with the hallucinatory landscape of Roberto Matta Echuarren's The Earth Is a Man, 1942, and the popular Magritte Time Transfixed, 1938, will never seem quite the same after Horn's pairing of the steam from the locomotive with the water's smoky wake. Twins are never truly identical, and by Horn's analogy, water does not reflect us, but rather we reflect the water, in all its confounding mutability. The theoretical implications of this installation complemented and supplemented the chronology of the museum. We were encouraged to proceed through the modernist canon as if walking beside a river, Horn's quasi-abstract surfaces provoking reciprocal exchanges that marked formal and iconographic similarities between permanent masterpieces and temporary photographs. An allegorical exercise, "Some Thames" partook of and amplified conventional taxonomies while resisting their classification. In most cases, Horn's image was the other to the museum masterpiece, and yet, following its wide-ranging itinerary, the Thames became the figure, the collection the ground. The absence of labels for Horn's series signaled the uncertainty of authorship yet marked the photographs as interlopers. In this project, Horn complicated her system once again. In its insistence on doubling and difference, "Some Thames" first queered the river, then the museum in which we were reflected.

Listen to the ducks.

The project was designed to introduce the audience to some of the basic facilities and buildings in Wembley Park, as well as my recommended shops.

This project is a guided audio tour for Wembley Park. The aim is to give people a clearer understanding of every functional building and useful amenity in the area, and hopefully users will get a feel for Wembley through this audio.

A sound installation in memory of the victims of Grenfell with the voices of the poets from the anthology: "Poems for Grenfell Tower" (The Onslaught Press). I would like to thank all the poets who sent their voice for the installation, Matthew Staunton and Rip Bulkeley for their support with the project. Thomas McColl Mike Jenkins Al McClimens Emma Lee John Lindley David Keyworth Rona Fitzgerald If music could heal- music tribute by Notturno Concertante In memory of Khadija Saye- BBC interview In memory of Marco and Gloria - Video poetry "Risorgive", Massimo Parolini Richard Carpenter Tom Phillips Peter A. Neil Reeder Ricky Nuttall Adele Cordner Alemu Tebeje Ayele

Artist: Ana Heilbron-Jácome Memory is a journey through time. Every time we remember, we go back to the past to reaffirm the present and write a new future. Either consciously or unconsciously, it is part of our routine. In this process, an update of feelings, emotions and memories, meaning and identity are generated. The same happens with sound. Sound is invisible. It takes no physical space but it is part of the construction of the ecosystem, and it is part of the relationship humans have with the environment. So how do we want this relationship to be? How can the sound help us to reconstruct the environment? Is there a past, present and future of sound for the ecosystem? Enjoy these three paths that will lead you to reflect on the sound of memory, the sound of the ecosystem. Ana has gathered people’s impressions and memories of ecosystems to create this geolocated audio experience. If you would like to participate and share your sounds, please share them via this email info@anaheilbron.com. Ana will continue to revisit the sounds shared to allow the sonic ecosystem to flourish – these sounds could be from any place, at any time.