Nina-I was gobsmacked to open your lovely newsletter and see my story! What a thrilling surprise. Thank you so much for the kind comments. I will be happy-dancing in a very non-poetic form for the rest of the day!
My attempt below. A side note - it's interesting how it feels uncomfortable to be "copying" the form of another writer's sentence so directly, but I guess that's the point of the exercises - copy the sentence forms to a certain extent, to help develop our own ear/voice for language? I do realize this is the premise of your weekly posts, I'm just new to craft classes, having been an English major for only a semester or two, a long long time ago. ...Anyway:
The way is full of rocks and dust, of blinding sun and breathless night — and the empty moans of the wanderers.
He’s a cross between Einstein and Tarzan, a prodigy who swings from trees and clotheslines as his ululations light up the night, and between a nihilist and a guardian angel, destroying his toys and artwork methodically just before spying me with a cup of coffee, when he’ll bring me a jug of milk, and he’ll be six years old June next, if any of us live so long.
Nina-I was gobsmacked to open your lovely newsletter and see my story! What a thrilling surprise. Thank you so much for the kind comments. I will be happy-dancing in a very non-poetic form for the rest of the day!
My attempt below. A side note - it's interesting how it feels uncomfortable to be "copying" the form of another writer's sentence so directly, but I guess that's the point of the exercises - copy the sentence forms to a certain extent, to help develop our own ear/voice for language? I do realize this is the premise of your weekly posts, I'm just new to craft classes, having been an English major for only a semester or two, a long long time ago. ...Anyway:
The way is full of rocks and dust, of blinding sun and breathless night — and the empty moans of the wanderers.
Not sure about the rhythm of this, but here goes:
He’s a cross between Einstein and Tarzan, a prodigy who swings from trees and clotheslines as his ululations light up the night, and between a nihilist and a guardian angel, destroying his toys and artwork methodically just before spying me with a cup of coffee, when he’ll bring me a jug of milk, and he’ll be six years old June next, if any of us live so long.
So beautiful. I always want to sit in silence after reading your selected sentences and essays. 🙏