Take a poem, preferably one not known to you. Cover all but the last line. Write out that line and then write a line to correspond or in response. Then take the penultimate line and do the same and so on back to the first line of the poem. First the poem I got from this exercise, followed by the poem which inspired it.
Novel Feeling
But nothing is as it seems
Is much more difficult than dreams.
Weaving into a wider awakening
To where and what and how
For now this was their chosen byway – for now
Cliff drops; let’s go for the southern cliff.
Changed road signs! Which way to go?
And you: I hand the wheel over to you.
As if you need a licence in an unreal world.
Or reliving life at such a pace.
Slow, works ahead sign.
Spacious the car’s trunck spilling with flowers.
Too late to ask how we got here.
It was that novel feeling; another wrong turn.
Benita Kape (c) 18.4.2018
The following poem (black lines) and written from the bottom of the poem back to the top line is by Bolton Street Cemetery 1 by David Beach from his book Abandoned Novel. The reason I named my poem “Novel Feeling”.
Seemed cinematic, indeed heavenly
But nothing is as it seems
Itself along with a vividness, which
Is much more difficult than dreams
Oblivious to its fate the traffic chased
Weaving into a wider awakening.
They were really going. Spectacularly
To where and what and how
Destinations. Of course this was the place.
For now this was their chosen byway – for now
Shades and shade, watching the rush to vital
Cliffdrops; let’s go for the southern cliff.
Disapprove of death. I stood amidst the
Changed road signs! Which way to go?
Of motorists almost as much as I
And you; I hand the wheel over to you.
Nor a motorist, in fact disapprove
As if you need a licence in an unreal world.
Grand Prix. I felt out of place, neither dead
Or reliving life at such a pace.
Light the motorway was putting on its
Slow down, works ahead sign.
As mushrooms under the trees. Back in the
Spacious the car’s trunk spilling with flowers.
Instant gloom the tombstones looking recent.
Too late to ask how we got here.
Above the bridge there was a path in and
It was that novel feeling; another wrong turn.
benitakape 