.
From the walls
of the commercial heart we walk–
unconscious of dusk,
painting our faces shadowy and red,
unconscious of the lines,
forming around us and unconscious
of ourselves
We don’t remember where we started
and our aiming point’s escaped our view
as we walk independent
in the wake of others–
It is hot,
sweat runs in trickles from our forehead
and the organ’s silenced in our hand
We cross the night right-angled
and our bonds loose
still – if you’re a deliberate observer,
they are there–
and you will see
me,
sitting on this bench on Brighton Pier,
silently observing,
the deck thick
with threads of lost connections
as i leave
.
.
This is the original text:
Dusk–of a summer night by Theodor Dreiser
And the tall walls of the commercial heart of an American city of perhaps 400,000 inhabitants--such walls as in time may linger as a mere fable. And up the broad street, now comparatively hushed, a little band of six,--a man of about fifty, short, stout, with bushy hair protruding from under a round black felt hat, a most unimportant- looking person, who carried a small portable organ such as is customarily used by street preachers and singers. And with him a woman perhaps five years his junior, taller, not so broad, but solid of frame and vigorous, very plain in face and dress, and yet not homely, leading with one hand a small boy of seven and in the other carrying a Bible and several hymn books. With these three, but walking independently behind, was a girl of fifteen, a boy of twelve and another girl of nine, all following obediently, but not too enthusiastically, in the wake of the others. It was hot, yet with a sweet languor about it all. Crossing at right angles the great thoroughfare on which they walked, was a second canyon-like way, threaded by throngs and vehicles and various lines of cars which clanged their bells and made such progress as they might amid swiftly moving streams of traffic. Yet the little group seemed unconscious of anything save a set purpose to make its way between the contending lines of traffic and pedestrians which flowed by them.
.
At dVerse we’re running a Prose to Poetry challenge today – 3 pm EST. Means we take some text from a book and turn it step by step into poetry. The base for my above poem was taken from the opening of Theodor Dreiser’s American Tragedy. Oh and the pic is where i sat and wrote this…on Brighton Pier yesterday..
