Have you ever thought about what makes a sentence a sentence? Like, how is it really that we convey to another person what we're thinking? We were all taught in school that it's gotta have noun, verb, tense, etc., but in Elaine Barry's book Robert Frost On Writing, a fresh and insightful definition of a sentence is presented: one that is the legendary Frost's own.
Frost states: "A sentence is a sound in itself on which other sounds called words may be strung."
This blew my mind, and for the most part it's the core of Frost's compositional philosophy. The sentence, from his perspective, is really just a cadential noise, and it is this intentional complex vibration that conveys a person's thoughts. This "sound of sense", as Frost calls it, is by far more important than the actual content of the sentence itself.
I mean, think about it. Even just the word "hey", for example, could be spoken in such a variety of ways that its implied meaning could be virtually anything. It's crazy. According to the book, Frost was very curious about these "sense sounds" and how to convey them through writing. He describes a clever way of finding them:
"The best place to get the abstract sound of sense is from voices behind a door that cuts off the words." (Such a cool image, and the sort of thing that's been fascinating to me personally for a long time; I have fond memories of listening to muffled music on the radio with the car windows down as a kid.)
With this mindset, it's like there's some kinda higher world hiding in the speech of everyone we meet just as long as we're willing to listen for it. Let's open our ears and minds and see what's lurking there, shall we? I know I'm down af to give it a try.