A Voice Without Volume

By Jack Joseph Smith

Not the lack thereof But the absence of my actor's skill For this brain And the throat I will stop the hammer I will deflect the axe Fast this stone heart did fall Surely same the speed did drop the pearl Which would change nothing all the while If you tried to kick more dirt in her face She would grow
However now, no gavel coming down For you to grieve your sidewinder misdeeds Props of any kind forbidden in this theatre A wider more respectable visual had many appearing from underground As was reflected the generic in the you Even though at first your enterance into a thousand castles and shacks seemed no more than irresponsible Here is where I am No matter where that is All along with the alone At the end of the line Connected only to vision
Where beach walkers notice The horizon is a place Where everything grinds to a silent slowness Coming to rest You can see it Settling under the Sun Across the distant spread of the sea

Original Scan

Page 66
Page 67
Page 68

AI Interpretation

GPT

A closing poem about damaged authority, theatre, respectability, vision, and the slowing horizon where force finally gives way to stillness.

Its ending broadens from the stage and the self toward the sea and the sun, giving the collection a final image of release without easy peace.

Claude

A long closing poem whose 'voice without volume' is glossed not as silence but as 'the absence of / my actor's skill' - a refusal or inability to perform. It runs through courtroom and theatre imagery ('I will deflect the axe', 'no gavel coming down', 'Props of any kind forbidden / in this theatre') before opening onto the sea, where 'beach walkers notice / The horizon is a place / Where everything grinds / to a silent slowness' and settles 'under / the Sun / Across the distant / spread of the sea'.

The poem sets craft against truth: it disclaims the 'actor's skill', forbids 'Props of any kind', and denies the listener the 'gavel' that would let them 'grieve your sidewinder / misdeeds' - as if performance and judgment alike are being stripped away. The figure who 'would grow' when you 'kick more dirt / in her face' is a small emblem of indestructible persistence set against the addressee's theatrical entrance 'into a thousand castles and shacks'. Its real movement is from human staging to natural rest: 'Here is where I am / No matter where that is', 'All along with the alone', 'Connected only to vision', until the horizon does the slowing and the sun does the settling. The three scan pages let it decelerate, and the deceleration is the point - quiet rather than climax, a voice that turns down its volume until only the sea is audible.