In a recent post, CarolinaBlue50 proposed an interesting writing exercise, converting a paragraph of prose into poetry. As he describes it:
My curiosity piqued, I found the following paragraph, which I felt would lend itself to the exercise.
Excerpt from:
The Museum at Purgatory
by Nick Bantock
HarperCollins, 1999
Original:
We sat in a Turkish cafe not far from the Museum and talked about our first encounter--the way I'd examined her, lured her with my promises and run my hands over her body. I found myself wanting to touch her again, just to feel her unblemished skin. She asked to hear my side of the story--why I'd abused her trust. What could I say? That I was obsessed with beauty? No, that would have been dismissive. So I told her what I knew of the motivation behind my actions. In fact, I did the best I could to explain my blackened heart. I watched for anger to appear on her face, but of course, given that we were in Purgatory, that wasn't likely. When I'd finished my explanation, she thanked me for my honesty and gathered herself to leave. I didn't want her to go. I needed more. Surely I wasn't planning a new seduction? Then it dawned on me; it was forgiveness that I longed for. How naive could I be? I stood, shook her hand, and watched her walk away. As she left, the cafe's plump patterned cushions began to turn into Shaker chairs and the thick black coffee we'd been drinking thinned itself into Jamaican lemonade. I wondered which of us precipitated the alterations, but it was impossible to tell.
From there, the first step of the transformation was to add the lines breaks.
We sat in a Turkish cafe
not far from the Museum and
talked about our first encounter--
the way I'd examined her,
lured her with my promises and
run my hands over her body.
I found myself
wanting to touch her again,
just to feel her
unblemished skin.
She asked to hear
my side of the story--
why I'd abused her trust.
What could I say?
That I was obsessed
with beauty?
No,
that would have been dismissive.
So I told her what I knew
of the motivation behind my actions.
In fact, I did the best
I could to explain my blackened heart.
I watched for anger to appear on her face,
but of course,
given that we were in Purgatory,
that wasn't likely.
When I'd finished my explanation,
she thanked me for my honesty and
gathered herself to leave. I didn't want her to go.
I needed more. Surely
I wasn't planning a new seduction? Then it dawned on me;
it was forgiveness that I longed for.
How naive could I be? I stood, shook her hand, and
watched her walk away. As she left,
the cafe's plump patterned cushions
began to turn into Shaker chairs and
the thick black coffee we'd been drinking
thinned itself into Jamaican lemonade.
I wondered which of us precipitated the alterations,
but it was impossible to tell.
http://static.flickr.com/3120/3229159989_cac6302274.jpg Some massaging and tweaking of that intermediary step produced this...
at the Turkish cafe
near the Museum
we spoke of
our first encounter--
the examination
my promises
my hands on her body.
I found myself wanting
to touch her
to feel her
unblemished skin.
She asked for
my side of the story--
my justification
What could I say?
That I was obsessed?
With beauty?
how dismissive...
instead
we spoke of
my motivations--
I did my best
I tried to explain
this blackened heart.
I found myself watching
for anger on her face,
but of course,
that wasn't likely.
I finished
my explanation--
she thanked me
for my honesty
and gathered herself
to leave.
I needed more
surely...
but we did not speak of
some new seduction--
my longing for
forgiveness
so naive.
and so I stood,
and shook her hand,
and watched her walk
away...
soft cushioned space
gone plain and bare
sweet black coffee turned
pale tart lemonade.
who changed
was impossible to say...
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Stellaa
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Comments
What a terrific challenge.
CarolinaBlue: I think you underestimate your own talents. And thank you so much for the idea: I rather enjoyed the exercise...
Eva: Thank you! I do think it's an interesting exercise in rethinking a text. And it does make you see how much you can parse away while still maintaining the essential story.
Fireeyes: Thank you.
I like how you appropriately placed the “No,” on its lonely line during the first pass, and how that got transformed during the second process (also appropriate, starting a new stanza with “how dismissive...”). I especially love the vaselike shape of the new piece you created.
—Melissa
Beth: Thank you for coming by! I'm glad you liked what you found.