{"id":224,"date":"2022-11-07T19:51:15","date_gmt":"2022-11-07T19:51:15","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/?p=224"},"modified":"2026-06-04T19:14:41","modified_gmt":"2026-06-04T19:14:41","slug":"i-keep-thinking-my-way-to-ness-emplacements-on-the-anglian-coast","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/i-keep-thinking-my-way-to-ness-emplacements-on-the-anglian-coast\/","title":{"rendered":"\u201cI Keep Thinking My Way to Ness\u201d: Emplacement(s) on the Anglian Coast"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Milo Harries<\/strong><a href=\"#end\" name=\"back\">*<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n<h5 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Abstract<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"abstract wp-block-paragraph\">This article explores senses of emplacement in two works delivered through headphones, Ilya Kaminsky and Axel Kacouti\u00e9\u2019s <font class=\"no-italics\">I See a Silence<\/font> and Zo\u00eb Svendsen and Carolyn Downing\u2019s <font class=\"no-italics\">Ness<\/font>. The article begins from a feeling provoked by the headphones themselves: a sense that <font class=\"no-italics\">Ness<\/font> took place \u201cout there,\u201d caught in the wind, whilst <font class=\"no-italics\">I See a Silence<\/font> was secluded from the site, within the headphones, \u201cin here.\u201d Understanding the works as rehearsals, the article articulates the dispositions these positions prepare, offering each as a chance to practise an ethical response-ability: in Svendsen\u2019s work, an attitude of interruptibility, and in Kaminsky\u2019s, an estranged intimacy that recognizes the other in their withdrawal.<br><br><strong>Keywords: <\/strong>headphones, listening, ethics, place, response-ability<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ilya Kaminsky\u2019s <em>I See a Silence<\/em> and Zo\u00eb Svendsen\u2019s <em>Ness<\/em> start from common ground. Both are site-specific sonic works, delivered via headphones to solitary listeners exploring landscapes on Britain\u2019s eastern coast; both had their beginnings in the same strange shingle spit, Orford Ness\u2014now a nature reserve but once used for classified research, contributing to the development of the British atomic bomb. These rhymes of form and origin centre in both works a concern for secrecy, violence, reclamation and decay\u2014as well as guiding the choice of the sites within which their listeners were eventually emplaced: <em>I See Silence<\/em> ghosts Orford Ness itself, whilst <em>Ness<\/em> takes place on Shoeburyness, at Gunners Park\u2014another nature reserve studded with the relics of another military past. Despite these similarities, however, their listeners\u2019 experiences diverge, keyed by a difference in the pieces\u2019 technical frames: where <em>I See a Silence<\/em> uses closed headphones (Numark HF125s), <em>Ness <\/em>uses Sennheiser HD599s, with open backs. As a result, walking their sites in 2021, I was struck by the feeling that <em>I See a Silence<\/em> set itself apart from the landscape, \u201cin here,\u201d whilst <em>Ness <\/em>took place \u201cout there,\u201d beyond the headphones, as though its voices were \u201ccaught in the wind\u201d (Svendsen, Personal interview).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">This article thus began from contrasting sensations of <em>where I was<\/em> when these works were taking place. The article\u2019s task is to attend to this difference, articulating how these pieces emplace their listeners and asking what is at stake in that work. Carl Lavery argues that simplicity in the work of art can be \u201ca device for revealing where one is,\u201d proposing an \u201caesthetics of disclosure\u201d that would allow for a clearer perception of our entanglements (\u201cParticipation\u201d 305). Relatedly\u2014but distinctly\u2014this article will argue that <em>Ness<\/em> and <em>I See A Silence<\/em> not only sharpen their listeners\u2019 perceptions of their entanglements but influence their orientations within them. Bearing in mind Sara Ahmed\u2019s observation that \u201c[t]he approach is not simply about the arrival of an object: it is also how we turn toward that object\u201d (2), I will argue that the works\u2019 central interest is not only in what is perceived but in how those perceptions are anticipated and faced. I will propose that, in these works, emplacement describes not only a position but a <em>disposition<\/em>, rehearsing not only novel perceptions but also different orientations towards things perceived.<a name=\"back1\" href=\"#end1\"><sup>[1]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">What I will offer, consequently, is the suggestion that <em>Ness <\/em>and <em>I See a Silence <\/em>hold space for forms of ethical rehearsal, finding within their altered modes of emplacement \u201cthe potential of practice to be <em>practising, <\/em>to involve trying out life, exploration and experiment\u201d (Crouch 17). In each case, what is being rehearsed is a mode of response, structured by headphone-delivered sound that acts as one of \u201cour infrastructures of being, the habitats and materials through which we act and are\u201d (Hagood 4). I will argue that each work mediates its listener\u2019s entanglement within the site by cultivating a specific \u201csonic sensibility,\u201d a mode of engagement that takes listening as \u201ca susceptibility towards the world and the things [sic]\u201d (Voegelin 178). Where headphone-delivered sound has often been understood as \u201ca method of not attending to interactional possibilities,\u201d therefore (Bull, <em>Sounding <\/em>26), I will argue that in these works, it emerges as an opportunity for novel forms of ethical interaction. In doing so, each piece offers its own form of <em>dis-closure<\/em>: not a revelation made to the subject, but an opening of the subject towards the other and the unknown.<a name=\"back2\" href=\"#end2\"><sup>[2]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The article is founded on the conviction that \u201ctheatrical imagining offers us a way to practice, or to rehearse, other ways of imagining that outside the theatre might have some consequences for the ways we live now\u201d (Read, <em>Dark Theatre<\/em> 154). My claim will be that these works, through the influence they exert on the practising of place, can allow for the rehearsal of an ethical disposition. At stake in this claim is a proposition for the \u201cresponse-ability\u201d that Hans-Thies Lehmann identifies as one of theatre\u2019s fundamental properties (185). I will propose a connection between this theatrical capability and an ecological need, arguing that theatre\u2019s \u201cresponse-ability\u201d might be a means of cultivating the \u201cresponse-ability\u201d Donna Haraway names as one of our era\u2019s most vital and pressing concerns (2, 98). The potential for which this article argues, therefore, is that these works expand and enhance their listeners\u2019 capacities of response, rehearsing alternative grammars of experience and proposing new objects of attention. The article\u2019s conviction is that <em>Ness <\/em>and <em>I See a Silence <\/em>offer opportunities to practise \u201cthick copresence\u201d in ethical modes, \u201ctraining the mind and imagination to go visiting\u201d with strange beings in unexpected worlds\u201d (Haraway 4, 130).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h5 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>\u201cListen. Listen Now. Listen to Ness\u201d<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-embed is-type-video is-provider-youtube wp-block-embed-youtube wp-embed-aspect-16-9 wp-has-aspect-ratio\"><div class=\"wp-block-embed__wrapper\">\n<iframe loading=\"lazy\" title=\"Milo Harries Video 1\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/t4gUx_KPyy8?feature=oembed\" frameborder=\"0\" allow=\"accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share\" referrerpolicy=\"strict-origin-when-cross-origin\" allowfullscreen><\/iframe>\n<\/div><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Robert Macfarlane\u2019s prose poem \u201cNess,\u201d the source text for Svendsen\u2019s adaptation, tells the story of a group of scientists as they prepare for the firing of a bomb. Svendsen\u2014a dramaturg and theatremaker who, like Macfarlane, lectures at the University of Cambridge\u2014describes these scientists as examples of a tendency to \u201c[push] away recognition of the fact that we\u2019re part of the natural world, not in mastery over it\u201d (Personal interview). Both poem and adaptation describe this denial coming undone. Five \u201cforms\u201d converge on the scientists\u2019 rite, \u201cmoving fast through the forest to Ness,\u201d travelling as and within the landscape\u2019s life: willow and birds, shingle and green, lichen, likeness and drift (Macfarlane and Donwood 1). Infiltrated and enfilamented by the forms, the scientists are drawn into the ness, lichen \u201cscaled\u201d on their skin, and moss \u201cblooming plushly\u201d in their mouths (55\u201356). The ritual collapses: sunk and scattered in the shingle, the weapon cannot be fired. The work thus traces a trajectory from dominating separation towards inherence within a resistant, bewildering mesh: the scientists\u2019 bodies are revealed to be permeable and porous, exposed to and entangled in the world they have attempted to master. The poem ends with an image of deep time: \u201c[i]t was all sea once, in a long unbroken line\u201d (83).<\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"800\" height=\"449\" src=\"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image2-3.jpeg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-226\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image2-3.jpeg 800w, https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image2-3-300x168.jpeg 300w, https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image2-3-768x431.jpeg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-element-caption\">View from military structure to sea, Gunner\u2019s Park, Shoeburyness, 29th September 2021. Photo: Milo Harries<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Svendsen\u2019s work\u2014designed with Carolyn Downing and commissioned by Metal Culture for Estuary Festival 2021\u2014hides Macfarlane\u2019s story alongside the everyday. <em>Ness <\/em>begins at the edge of Gunner\u2019s Park, a short walk from Shoeburyness station, tight between a residential neighbourhood and the sea. Given headphones, a kitbag, and a map, <em>Ness<\/em>\u2019s listeners are invited into the park, sharing it with the normal rhythms of its use: families and dog-walkers, joggers and passers-by. It is at this point that the site begins to speak: GPS triggers, virtually embedded in the earth, prompt its recordings to play as the listeners pass. This offers the audience access to a piece in two parts, a \u201cdouble dramaturgy\u201d that sinks Macfarlane\u2019s narrative into the landscape in the shape of an \u201cexplosion in reverse\u201d (Svendsen, Personal interview). In the work\u2019s first part, the listeners are free to explore, discovering the park littered with invisible sonic shards: fragments of the narrative to come that are roused by the listeners as they move. Arriving at a disused gun emplacement, the listener finds the work\u2019s other half, a linear audio drama relating the dissipation of the scientists\u2019 integral selves. To hear this story of dissolution, the listener stands in a ring of hagstones laid within the emplacement\u2019s shelter: the centre of a centre, the vortex\u2019s heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Despite this sheltered ending, my claim for <em>Ness<\/em> begins with the idea that it reverses the insulated emplacement typically associated with personal stereo use, asking its listeners instead to open themselves to interruptions from beyond their usual frames. It is the first, more mobile part of Svendsen\u2019s piece that will be my focus, as it brings the listener into a world which whispers past the edges of their sight. Where headphone users might normally move within an \u201cauditory bubble\u201d (Bull, <em>Sound Moves<\/em> 3), or carry their soundscape with them as a \u201cportable cocoon\u201d (Tuhus-Debrow 47), Svendsen characterises <em>Ness<\/em>\u2019s listener\u2019s relationship to the site as \u201cthreaded\u201d: its mode of engagement with the site is \u201csonically porous,\u201d as if the site itself were speaking (Personal interview). The audio arrives woven within the landscape\u2019s other sounds, as if its voices were \u201csomehow held by the site\u201d (Svendsen, Personal interview): because of the open headphones and binaural recording technology, every sound has a trajectory, a point of origin, and there is no sense that you are carrying your own sonic space. The GPS triggers, meanwhile, make the rhythm of the listener\u2019s encounters dependent on their movements, reinforcing the sense that <em>Ness<\/em>\u2019s sounds and voices must be found amongst the grasses of the park. The listener\u2019s exploration, moreover, is unpredictable: some of the recordings are attached to double triggers, so that the work\u2019s presences can seem to flit across the landscape. Listeners returning to the same spot will encounter something else: a different ghost, the arrival of something new.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">This infrastructure of discovery helps to create the impression that the listener is placed within a landscape quick with invisible life, waiting \u201cout there\u201d to be met. Understood in these terms, one of the principal characteristics of <em>Ness<\/em>\u2019s site is that it is acousmatic: it harbours a network of sounds \u201cthat one hears without seeing the causes from which [they originate]\u201d (Schaeffer 91; my translation), and in its haunting, offers encounters with acousmatic beings\u2014in Michel Chion\u2019s terms, <em>acousm\u00eatres <\/em>(<em>Audio-Vision<\/em> 129). The quality of address in these encounters is uncanny: there is a feeling both of overhearing and of being spoken to; of being half-present in, and half-sensing, a spectral parallel world. As a result, a large part of the listener\u2019s experience is a feeling of hauntedness, an interaction with ghosts, \u201cthe kind of perception made by only one sense\u201d (Chion, <em>Audio-Vision<\/em> 125, discussing Merleau-Ponty 225). Svendsen and Downing\u2019s choice of equipment grounds an experience that leaves its listener unsettled and alert: a series of near-meetings, a movement among presences that are not quite not there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">These acousmatic encounters work on the listener\u2019s disposition towards and orientation within the site. Unseen, \u201cusually malevolent, occasionally tutelary\u201d (Chion, <em>Voice<\/em> 23), and characterised by \u201cubiquity, panopticism, omniscience, and omnipotence\u201d (Chion, <em>Voice<\/em> 24), the <em>acousm\u00eatre<\/em> speaks from somewhere beyond our understanding, and with knowledge beyond our own. It introduces a sense of uncertainty: an intuition of excess, a sense of something that lies beyond one\u2019s ordinary frames. Its voice sounds uncannily from somewhere \u201cneither inside nor outside the image\u201d (Chion, <em>Audio-Vision<\/em> 129), at an angle that endows it with a curious sense of power: \u201c<em>The acousm\u00eatre<\/em> <em>is everywhere, <\/em>its voice comes from an immaterial and non-localized body, and it seems that no obstacle can stop it . . . <em>The acousm\u00eatre is all-seeing<\/em>, its word is like the word of God: \u2018No creature can hide from it\u2019\u201d (Chion, <em>Voice<\/em> 24).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Acousm\u00eatres<\/em> thus challenge what Chion calls the \u201c<em>panoptic fantasy<\/em> . . . the fantasy of total mastery of space by vision\u201d (<em>Voice <\/em>24). In the experience of <em>Ness<\/em>, they defy and disrupt a stable sense of visual command, stressing the openness of the horizon and the limits of the listener\u2019s vision: somehow present, but \u201cout of shot\u201d\u2014or here, out of sight\u2014 introduce a vulnerability into the listener\u2019s sense of place. The <em>acousm\u00eatre<\/em>\u2019s excessiveness resists the dominant position associated with headphone use: where Bull argues that in everyday practice \u201c[t]he management of experience through sound technologies is tied to implicit forms of control\u2014over oneself, others and the spaces passed through\u201d (<em>Sound Moves<\/em> 102\u20133), <em>Ness <\/em>offers an experience of unmastered space, where invisible voices arise suddenly to chuckle and whisper into your ear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I want to suggest that this non-mastery opens the site\u2019s borders, allowing for the eruption of presences that cannot be (fore)seen. As Brandon Labelle observes, the acousmatic can challenge habitual or static perceptions of the world: discussing sounds that are invisible, but overheard, he explains that they can \u201c[expose] us within a scene of alterity: a figure, a voice, a sudden assemblage by which subjectivity is interrupted or unsettled\u201d (70). <em>Ness<\/em>\u2019s unpredictable acousmatic encounters can be interpreted, similarly, as moments of interruption, where novel properties and agencies threaten to come into view: as they begin to be involved with the image of the site, the work\u2019s <em>acousm\u00eatres<\/em> bear with it, as Chion observes, \u201ca relationship of <em>possible inclusion<\/em>\u201d (<em>Voice<\/em> 23). These interruptions, therefore, might be understood as the beginnings of what Alan Read describes as \u201cradical inclusion,\u201d a renewal of the distribution of the sensible on the part of entities that have been held beyond it (<em>Intimacy<\/em> 181); the promise, here, is that these \u201cexperiences of intrusion and interruption\u201d might \u201cinaugurate new social encounters and relations\u201d (Labelle 69), that theatre can be \u201ca movement of reassociation and reassembly,\u201d a chance to \u201cbegin again\u201d (Read, <em>Intimacy<\/em> 43, 6).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The broader claim I am making for <em>Ness<\/em>, however, is not only that it produces the experience of interruptions, but also that it allows its listener to rehearse an attitude of interruptibility. When Bull observes that \u201c[a] central motif of iPod use is to block out external interruptions whenever and wherever possible,\u201d he is describing a way to engage with the world, a disposition or (dis)orientation based on \u201c[remaining] continuously in control\u201d (<em>Sound Moves<\/em> 69). As we have seen, however, <em>Ness<\/em>\u2019s unmastered site runs counter to the spatial imaginary classically associated with headphone use: it refuses to \u201cbanish the contingency of the auditory landscape, clearing a space for [the listener] which is predictable and secure\u201d (Bull, <em>Sound Moves<\/em> 31). I would argue, therefore, that the deeper significance of <em>Ness<\/em>\u2019s acousmatic encounters is not that they offer new beings to knowledge, but that they propose the landscape as always imperfectly known. From this perspective, <em>Ness<\/em>\u2019s more profound work is not simply to interrupt the listener but to allow them to rehearse a disposition that is waiting for those interruptions to occur. Turning the entangled subject beyond the limits of their perception, and troubling their sensations of control, the piece prepares in them a broader openness towards that which might appear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The deeper ethical work of <em>Ness<\/em>, from this perspective, is that it allows its listener to practise being differently disposed towards a contingent, unmanaged, unmasterable world. Salom\u00e9 Voegelin, discussing her experience of a different sonic work, describes herself \u201cintersubjectively constituted by the sonic possible world generated in [her] inhabiting, glimpsing a different knowing of place and geography through [her] walking through, which [she] will not be able to shake off on the way home\u201d (35). What cannot be shaken off from the experience of <em>Ness<\/em> is the vulnerability of its \u201cintersubjective constitution\u201d and the limitedness of its \u201cdifferent knowing\u201d; it offers and encourages the practice of an ethical mode of being-in-place. In crude terms, we might characterise this as a dis-closure <em>of<\/em> the subject rather than one made <em>to<\/em> them\u2014in the sense that the work encourages the listener to live opened to a world into which novel agencies might emerge. When a voice sounds in the listener\u2019s ears at the start of the piece, saying \u201cListen. Listen Now. Listen to Ness,\u201d one might therefore say that they are being prepared not only to listen but to listen <em>out<\/em>, to live within a \u201csonic sensibility\u201d that would make them susceptible not only to what will appear in the work but to that which might appear beyond it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-embed is-type-video is-provider-youtube wp-block-embed-youtube wp-embed-aspect-16-9 wp-has-aspect-ratio\"><div class=\"wp-block-embed__wrapper\">\n<iframe loading=\"lazy\" title=\"Milo Harries Video 2\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/HYhLij08w9M?feature=oembed\" frameborder=\"0\" allow=\"accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share\" referrerpolicy=\"strict-origin-when-cross-origin\" allowfullscreen><\/iframe>\n<\/div><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<h5 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>\u201cWe Watch \/ They Watch Us Watch\u201d<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"800\" height=\"449\" src=\"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image3-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-227\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image3-1.jpg 800w, https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image3-1-300x168.jpg 300w, https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image3-1-768x431.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-element-caption\">View from Bomb Ballistics building, Orford Ness, 26th September 2021. Photo: Milo Harries<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ilya Kaminsky\u2019s <em>I See A Silence<\/em>, designed in collaboration with Axel Kacouti\u00e9, was commissioned by Artangel as part of <em>Afterness<\/em>, a hybrid exhibition responding to \u201cthe singular environment and hidden history of Orford Ness\u201d (\u201cAfterness\u201d). The piece is a \u201clyric work,\u201d again delivered through headphones, that forms a soundscape for walking Orford Ness itself. Where <em>Ness<\/em>\u2019s siting tugs at the logics of an \u201cordinary\u201d park, therefore, <em>I See a Silence <\/em>inhabits a landscape of explicit secrecy, at a conscious remove from the everyday: it takes its listeners in a rough loop around the shingle, amongst the controlled ruination of the ness\u2019s military life (\u201cAfterness\u201d). Arriving on the ness via ferry, the audience walk half a mile to the Information Building to pick up their equipment. Another half-mile takes them to the Bomb Ballistics Building and the memory-plains of the shingle where the work will begin. Once begun, the piece itself is a journey, each of its tracks paired with part of the path; the listeners walk with its sounds and voices past the lighthouse to the shore, and on past the Black Beacon to the low grey bulk of Laboratory 1.<\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"400\" height=\"533\" src=\"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image4-2.jpeg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-228\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image4-2.jpeg 400w, https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image4-2-225x300.jpeg 225w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 400px) 100vw, 400px\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-element-caption\">View towards the Black Beacon and Laboratory 1, Orford Ness. Photo: Robert Macfarlane<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">This looping course encourages a very different sense of emplacement to the one engendered by <em>Ness<\/em>. <em>I See a Silence<\/em> is carried with the listener, rather than being pinned to the earth: where <em>Ness<\/em>\u2019s progress is prompted by listeners moving from one trigger to the next, Kaminsky and Kacouti\u00e9\u2019s work is organised into continuous five- to ten-minute movements. These are assigned to and describe parts of the landscape, but without the exactness that characterises <em>Ness<\/em>: <em>I See a Silence<\/em>\u2019s correlation between audio and path\u2014between track and track\u2014is premised on areas rather than <em>Ness<\/em>\u2019s network of points. This logic anchors a sense that the work\u2019s space exists in relation to the site but remains independent of it, a feeling strengthened by the piece\u2019s technical frame. Kacouti\u00e9 explains that the choice of closed headphones was motivated by a desire for \u201ca more secluded feeling,\u201d in the expectation that the site would be windy most of the time. In performance, the sea breeze whistles on the headphones\u2019 plastic shell, a steady sign of the \u201csonic envelope\u201d within with the work occurs (Bull, <em>Sound Moves<\/em> 2), and a response to Kacouti\u00e9\u2019s desire for the audio to be \u201cits own experience\u201d rather than blending in with its surroundings (Personal communication). In fact, though it was written for the ness, the work\u2019s most salient feeling is that it happens\u2014in keeping with classical expectations for headphone-delivered sound\u2014\u201csomewhere else\u201d (Bull, <em>Sounding<\/em> 73).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">In one sense, then, <em>I See a Silence <\/em>offers an estrangement: not an \u201cecstatic immersion\u201d in the site (Lavery, \u201cIntroduction\u201d 229) but a gentle seclusion from it. Where Svendsen characterises <em>Ness<\/em>\u2019s listener-relation as \u201cthreaded,\u201d therefore, we might think of <em>I See a Silence<\/em> as \u201cbubbled\u201d: in contact with and contained within the site but, in some way other, and set apart. This sensation of separated spaces shadows the circumstances of the work\u2019s composition, with Kaminsky\u2014who, alongside his writing career, holds the Bourne Chair of Poetry at Georgia Tech\u2014kept by the pandemic from ever visiting the site. Yet this sense of distance does not adequately capture the text\u2019s position relative to the landscape it describes. Kaminsky\u2019s poetry nurtures an impulse <em>towards<\/em>: a note at the back of the published collection runs, \u201cReader: I\u2019ve never visited Ness. These pages are a record of my trying to go there\u201d (<em>Silence<\/em> 61). One of the text\u2019s most resonant emplacements is full of this striving, removed from the shingle but reaching towards it: \u201cLike a boy who rolls a candy on the tip of his tongue, in a time of plague, in the middle of another continent, I keep thinking my way to Ness\u201d (11).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The work\u2019s feeling of separation is thus used as the basis for a journey, or a sense of departure to a position looking back at the ness it has imaginatively left behind. In these moments, the listener\u2019s detachment from the site brings them into the speaker\u2019s world, to a place self-consciously removed from where they are physically standing; the work then thinks itself into a return, taking its listener towards a ness now re-figured as \u201ca landscape of the imagination\u201d (\u201cAfterness\u201d). Travelling out and back, the listener now occupies multiple sites, what they can see braced bright against what they can hear. In some of these landscapes, they\u2014and perhaps even the speaker\u2014are absent; during the journey that leads past Laboratory 1, for example, a speaker says:<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-white-background-color has-background has-small-font-size wp-block-paragraph\">In rain<br>a rabbit<br>runs through<br>the open<br>door<br>of laboratory 1<br>leaving<br><br>a spray of footsteps<br>soon<br>filled<br>with<br>water. (30)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">At other moments, the listener is absent but addressed, imagined, and anticipated:<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-white-background-color has-background has-small-font-size wp-block-paragraph\">And perhaps you will<br>take off your t-shirt<br>and go<br>hollering<br>into<br>the sea<br>and while<br>you splash\u2014<br>gulls, five of<br>them peck<br>at your<br>t-shirt (40)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Elsewhere, the listener is conjured into a different world, positioned at the speaker\u2019s side:<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-white-background-color has-background has-small-font-size wp-block-paragraph\">Gulls line up like hostesses at a hospice and we<br>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 watch<br>They watch us watch, and they<br>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 hold<br>this nation in the quarantine of their eyes (35)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The listener is thus moved around a network of positions\u2014actual and imagined, retrospective and anticipatory\u2014that are in conversation with the site where they are standing. Crucially, there is an intense emphasis across these journeys on the shifting relationship between listener and speaker: what is stressed, as the listener is re-placed, is the relation they now bear to their world. Sought and seen from these positions, the listener\u2019s location is defined in relative terms: in another person\u2019s distance, in their future, or at their side. This \u201clyric work,\u201d like Kaminsky\u2019s earlier <em>Deaf Republic<\/em>, offers itself as an example of what Min Hyoung Song describes as a \u201crevived lyric,\u201d \u201cnot concerned,\u201d at its heart, \u201cwith the spotlighting of an individual \u2018I\u2019 or the exploration of a profound psychic interior . . . but [focussed] instead on the space between a first-person speaker and a second-person addressee\u201d (4\u20135). The work\u2019s journeys allow this space to be renewed: as the listener is re-situated, they are newly addressed. At stake in its acts of emplacement, therefore, are deeper ethical questions about how we relate: to be re-placed is to be re-oriented, caught in the eye of someone else\u2019s mind, or turned to face the strange rebounding scrutiny of the gulls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">It is for this reason, perhaps, that the text repeatedly returns to moments of mutual scrutiny and acts of partial, recursive witness. <em>I See a Silence<\/em> displays a particular fascination with moments of reciprocal regard, a curiosity that is clear in the gulls that \u201cwatch us watch,\u201d as well as the doubled reflexivity of the silence \u201cwhich reveals ourselves to ourselves\u201d (18). This silence opens instances of simultaneous contact and estrangement:<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-white-background-color has-background has-small-font-size wp-block-paragraph\">What I saw<br>at Ness is how silence seeks us<br>. . .<br>silence is the self defense<br>of people spat on, people in whose faces<br>other people\u2019s silence peers<br>Who watch<br>others watching them\u2014<br>watch who don\u2019t know<br>they are being watched (57)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">What repeats in these moments is the experience of a doubled recognition and mis-recognition: an intense knowing and not-knowing of the other, and through the other, of oneself. These moments thus rehearse an attitude of simultaneous intimacy and exclusion, offering encounters between beings that both act on and withdraw from each other, positions that are present with each other in some form but which nonetheless remain mutually opaque. The returning gaze of the gulls, and the speaker\u2019s stretch towards the listener\u2019s present (\u201cAnd perhaps you will . . .\u201d), speak to a preoccupation with exteriority founded on the impenetrability of other lives, a mode of relation that evokes <em>The Ecological Thought<\/em>: \u201c[o]ther minds are like the dark side of the Moon: there, but invisible to us. Our intimacy is an allowing of and a coming to terms with the passivity and void of the strange stranger\u201d (Morton 80). It is this dynamic that we find between the speaker, the listener and the birds, a guarded form of external recognition which goes no further than the outside of the eyes, but which nonetheless offers an asymmetrical, ethical form of relation: a \u201cplatform for compassion\u201d that might \u201creveal ourselves to ourselves\u201d (Morton 80; Kaminsky 18).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">In its relations and revelations, then, Kaminsky\u2019s work could be seen as a rehearsal for the intimacy Morton is describing: a revived lyrical awareness that faces the other in and as their mystery. For the work of its dis-closure, <em>I See a Silence <\/em>rehearses \u201ca mental openness far more disturbing than outer space\u201d (Morton 80), a restrained disposition that is intimate with the other as they cannot be known. In Kaminsky\u2019s prose, poetry is proposed as a place for things to appear: for Kaminsky, as for Zbigniew Herbert, \u201ca poet is like a barometer for the soul of a nation. It cannot change the weather. But it can show us what the weather is like\u201d (\u201cBarometers\u201d). Kaminsky articulates a faith in poetry\u2019s ability to express something of how we are: he notes that \u201c[Czeslaw] Mi\u0142osz titled his seminal text&nbsp;<em>The Witness<\/em>&nbsp;<em>of Poetry<\/em>&nbsp;\u2018not because we witness it, but because it witnesses us\u2019\u201d (xxiv). But the disclosures of <em>I See a Silence<\/em>, in line with Song\u2019s \u201crevived lyric,\u201d are interpersonal and exterior: what is witnessed is not simply how we are, but how we are with each other. What the work knows is our not knowing; what it sees are the limits of our seeing. Faced with irreducible strangeness, it pauses at the horizon of its gaze, rebounding as a form of intimate estrangement in the spaces in between.<\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"800\" height=\"449\" src=\"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image5-3.jpeg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-229\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image5-3.jpeg 800w, https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image5-3-300x168.jpeg 300w, https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/image5-3-768x431.jpeg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-element-caption\">Orford Ness, 26th September 2021. Photo: Milo Harries<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Returning to \u201cresponse-ability,\u201d then, the argument of this essay is that in their structured modes of responding, and in small, specific ways, <em>Ness<\/em> and <em>I See a Silence <\/em>contribute something towards: \u201clearning again, or for the first time, how to become less deadly, more response-able, more attuned, more capable of surprise, more able to practice the arts of living and dying well in multispecies symbiosis, sympoiesis, and symanimagenesis on a damaged planet\u201d (Haraway 80). What I have described in this essay, of course, exceeds a strict sense of the words \u201cpractice\u201d and \u201crehearsal;\u201d those terms can imply a purposiveness and instrumentalism that would do a disservice to the makers and their work. What holds, however, is the sense that these works allow and encourage their listeners to do something that it is important for them to do again. They open spaces for new forms of interaction; they might not teach, but they make space for the listener to learn. In closing, therefore, it is the \u201cability,\u201d as much as the \u201cresponse,\u201d that I would like to stress. Each piece briefly oriented me within the entanglements of the site and made me capable of something; they seeded a change, through the practice of place. In memory, the pieces have receded; if something specific was disclosed to me, if I had an epiphany, I cannot remember it. But I remember what it felt like to be there, vividly. I remember how it felt to face things, and how it made me move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\"\/>\n\n\n\n<h5 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Endnotes<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-small-font-size wp-block-paragraph\"><a name=\"end1\" href=\"#back1\"><sup>[1]<\/sup><\/a> I owe the distinction between \u201dposition\u201d and \u201cdisposition\u201d to Richard Kearney (452).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-small-font-size wp-block-paragraph\"><a name=\"end2\" href=\"#back2\"><sup>[2]<\/sup><\/a> This sense of \u201cdis-closure\u201d is also owed to Richard Kearney (390).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h5 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Bibliography<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">\u201c<a rel=\"noreferrer noopener\" href=\"https:\/\/www.artangel.org.uk\/project\/afterness\/\" target=\"_blank\">Afterness<\/a>.\u201d Accessed 29 Apr. 2022.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Ahmed, Sara. <em>Queer Phenomenology: Objects, Orientations, Others. <\/em>Duke UP, 2006.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Bull, Michael. <em>Sound Moves.<\/em> Routledge, 2015.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">\u2014\u2014\u2014. <em>Sounding Out the City: Personal Stereos and the Management of Everyday Life<\/em>. Berg, 2000.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Chion, Michel. <em>Audio-vision: sound on screen. <\/em>1990. Edited and translated by Claudia Gorbman, Columbia UP, 1994.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">\u2014\u2014\u2014. <em>The Voice in Cinema.<\/em> Edited and translated by Claudia Gorbman, Columbia UP, 1999.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Crouch, David. \u201cPerformances and Constitutions of Natures: A Consideration of the Performance of Lay Geographies.\u201d <em>Nature Performed: Environment, Culture and Performance<\/em>, edited by Bronislaw Szerszynski, Wallace Heim and Claire Waterton, Blackwell, 2003, pp. 19\u201330.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Hagood, Mack. <em>Hush: Media and Sonic Self-Control. <\/em>Duke UP, 2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Haraway, Donna. <em>Staying With the Trouble: Making Kin in the <em>Chthulucene<\/em>. <\/em>Duke UP, 2016.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Kacouti\u00e9, Axel. \u201cRe: New Website Enquiry.\u201d Received by Milo Harries, 26 Aug. 2022.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Kaminsky, Ilya. \u201cBarometers.\u201d <em>Words for War: New Poems from Ukraine.<\/em> Boston, Academic Studies Press, 2017, p. xxiv.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">\u2014\u2014\u2014. <em>I See A Silence<\/em>. Artangel, 2021.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">\u2014\u2014\u2014. <em>I See A Silence<\/em>. Headphone work, Orford Ness, 2021.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Kearney, Richard.&nbsp;<em>The Wake of Imagination<\/em>. 1988. Routledge, 2003.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Labelle, Brandon. <em>Sonic Agency: Sound and Emergent Forms of Resistance<\/em>. Goldsmiths Press, 2018.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Lavery, Carl. &#8220;Introduction: performance and ecology\u2014what can theatre do?\u201d <em>Green Letters<\/em>, vol.20, no. 3, 2016, pp. 229\u201336, <a rel=\"noreferrer noopener\" href=\"https:\/\/doi.org\/10.1080\/14688417.2016.1206695\" target=\"_blank\">doi.org\/10.1080\/14688417.2016.1206695<\/a>. Accessed 05 May 2021.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">\u2014\u2014\u2014. \u201cParticipation, Ecology, Cosmos.\u201d <em>Reframing Immersive Theatre: The Politics and Pragmatics of Participatory Performance<\/em>, edited by James Frieze, Palgrave Macmillan, 2017, pp. 303\u201316.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Lehmann, Hans-Thies. <em>Postdramatic Theatre. <\/em>1999. Translated by Karen J\u00fcrs-Munby, Routledge, 2006.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Macfarlane, Robert, and Stanley Donwood. <em>Ness<\/em>. Hamish Hamilton, 2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. <em>Phenomenology of Perception<\/em>. 1945. Translated by Donald Landes, Routledge, 2012.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Mi\u0142osz, Czes\u0142aw. <em>The Witness of Poetry: The Charles Eliot Norton Lectures, 1981\u201382<\/em>. Harvard UP, 1983.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Morton, Timothy. <em>The Ecological Thought. <\/em>Harvard UP, 2010.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Read, Alan. <em>The Dark Theatre: A Book About Loss<\/em>. Routledge, 2020.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">\u2014\u2014\u2014. <em>Theatre, Intimacy and Engagement: The Last Human Venue.<\/em> Routledge, 2008.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Schaeffer, Pierre. <em>Trait\u00e9 des objets musicaux. <\/em>Seuil, 1966.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Song, Min Hyoung. <em>Climate Lyricism<\/em>. Duke UP, 2022.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Svendsen, Zo\u00eb. <em>Ness<\/em>. Headphone work. Shoeburyness, 2021.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">\u2014\u2014\u2014. Personal interview. 2 Nov. 2021.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Tuhus-Debrow, Rebecca. <em>Personal Stereo<\/em>. Bloomsbury Academic, 2017.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"hangingIndent wp-block-paragraph\">Voegelin, Salom\u00e9. <em>Sonic Possible Worlds: Hearing the Continuum of Sound<\/em>. Bloomsbury, 2014.<a name=\"end\">&nbsp;<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\"\/>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-thumbnail alignnone\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"150\" height=\"150\" src=\"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/Milo-Harries-150x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-230\"\/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><a name=\"end\" href=\"#back\">*<\/a><strong>Milo Harries<\/strong> is a PhD candidate at the University of Cambridge, where he holds a Judith E. Wilson Studentship in the Faculty of English. His doctoral research centres on logics of encounter in the context of the climate crisis, and his other work has been published in <em>Contemporary Theatre Review<\/em>, <em>IJPADM<\/em> and <em>Platform: A Journal of Theatre and Performance<\/em>. Milo co-convenes the Cambridge Graduate Seminar for Drama and Performance and is on <em>Platform<\/em>\u2019s editorial board<em>. <\/em>He is also an opera singer and coach, and has worked at the Royal Opera House, Glyndebourne and Opera North. <a href=\"http:\/\/www.miloharries.com\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noreferrer noopener\">www.miloharries.com<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-small-font-size wp-block-paragraph\">Copyright <strong>\u00a9<\/strong> 2022 Milo Harries<br><em>Critical Stages\/Sc\u00e8nes critiques<\/em> e-ISSN:2409-7411<\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/creativecommons.org\/licenses\/by-nc-nd\/4.0\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noreferrer noopener\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/03\/88x31.png\" alt=\"Creative Commons Attribution International License\"\/><\/a><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-small-font-size wp-block-paragraph\">This work is licensed under the<br>Creative Commons Attribution International License CC BY-NC-ND 4.0.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":225,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"advanced_seo_description":"","jetpack_seo_html_title":"","jetpack_seo_noindex":false,"jetpack_seo_schema_type":"","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-224","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-essays"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/27\/2022\/10\/featured-1.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/224","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=224"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/224\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1217,"href":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/224\/revisions\/1217"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/225"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=224"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=224"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/26\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=224"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}