A competition to find the world’s
most evocative noise has been won
by the seagull’s cry. Raw tones
layering up, each seagull outcry plied,
often half way through, with another
and another, converging in the grey
above the stern. Or fleeting, no
mistaking, over an urban roof, who
knows why but with the big sea tang.
Faraway tough, scratched into paintings
(the look and the sound) by maître as by
child: those two-curve shorthand
cleavage squiggles above the slacker
curves of the sea. In Cardiff Bay
with its malleable boardwalk and Café Rouge
the winning entry can also be heard.
Out in the water, near the shore, from
a sly speaker limpeted half way
up a pole. In lieu of, or to draw
gulls to people Cardiff Bay.