"Dead Sound"

The first time I ever heard The Raveonettes was one summer at least 5 years ago (probably more like 7) when a local TV channel was using "That Great Love Sound" to promote some summer shows, and from there I bought every album they had out, and every time a new one came out, I bought it at my local record store. Each subsequent album has been deeper, darker, and more unique than the one before, and I find myself always in the mood to listen to The Raveonettes. I've been thrilled by both of their shows that I've had the pleasure of attending in Boston. It's hard to choose one favorite out of so many excellent songs, but one of them has been "Dead Sound" ever since Lust Lust Lust came out. This summer, late one night I was sitting in my apartment watching the video, and it just took hold of me in an incredible, unforeseen way. I hadn't written a poem for months. Part of being a mum and not having a lot of mental free time, I think. But that video, and the song played over and over till it was the landscape of my mind, inspired a poem I now love. Here's my Raveonettes-inspired poem (and I actually have one going inspired by "Black/White").


Dead Sound
Cyndle Plaisted Rials

Your ghost edges flicker into view
as you dance with jerky hip swings,
languorous neck rolls, side to side, all the way
around, curtain of dripping hair
whipping your cheekbone, drowned, the guitars
fuzzed and fading into backgrounds
of a dark moonlit ocean, sweet retro
harmony in a fast-moving car.

This dance is your last hurrah among the living,
your bluish hand twisting the knob
for more sound, vibrations that even your emptiness
might conduct. Your desperation is water-like
drifting in and out of your dark bones
as you flail with unstudied transparent grace.

Your face is white like the moon
even here in candlelight, and it's unclear
if you're been pulled under by accident
or in soft submission. Either way the rhythm of waves
took you, splashes of salt still cresting
your sharp cheek.