Foreign sounds

12 Mar

I wonder sometimes if seven years in the US hasn’t worked some spell on me. . . I think of Psyche’s tasks in the underworld, and that seven years is a magic number of sorts.  From which the view back to the home country recedes into brightly colored imagistic memory-fragments, with voices grown strange like a bad phone-echo.  Sometimes when I hear other Australians speak, it’s a real shock and I hear the accent that was previously, like water, just my fish-medium.  But then—double shock–an American voice after an Australian one jars my ear the other way.  My voice when I think to myself (not out loud) is Australian, but it no longer belongs to Australia.  It sounds the way someone who speaks like nobody around her sounds, and I feel uncomfortable back with my own sonic flock.


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