Toumaing, Poetic Prose to Poetry Options

[Guest_Jox_*]

Hi All,

I've set up this thread to illustrate my concept of Toumaing.

When a piece of prose is highly poetic it may, actually, work much better as a good or very good poem. I've suggested this to a couple of people but I started with a piece by Toumai - hence the name.

James.

[Guest_Toumai_*]

Hi James,

Unfortunately the piece you 'rearranged' accordingly was one of the poorer things I have written this year, but, to illustrate your point, I will transfer it here (originally posted on BBC Get Writing):

ENCROACHING DARKNESS

Darkness only becomes absolute when there is light.

Until my mother lit the candle my eyes were adjusted to the gloom. I could see the familiar lines of the room, and what in truth I could not see my mind filled in for me. I could even see my father’s form lying in the bed; but then the flickering glimmer showed me it was imagination and the deception of the seeping shadows.

My mother placed the taper beside the picture of my father that rested on the chest. I could hear her quiet sobs as kneeling she rested her head on her clenched hands. It was as if she was praying at some kind of shrine to his memory.

I wanted to cry out: ‘No! He is not dead!’ But my throat was choked with my own tears and I could not speak. Besides, it must have been a lie.

Those who were missing would never return. But there was no illumination of their fate; no window on our grief. They disappeared in secret and we mourned in darkness.

Everyone knew that the missing were taken. A knock on the door in the dead of night. That was how it worked. Why waste money on trials for those who were already condemned by the blackness of their own hearts?

Then, like a meteor flashing a brief glory of sparks across the night sky she ignited our souls with her spirit and we recognised the darkness for what it was. And in her shining presence there were no shadows to hide in, no recourse, no concealment. As the fierce flames of freedom burned out, starved by the choking darkness of stagnant acceptance, my father’s beacon was snuffed out beside her in some hell-hole.

But now that we have lived in that light, we can never accept the totality of the darkness. We will rekindle that flame and one day the sun will rise again.


Crits centred on the strange illogicallity of the opening sentance, the cliches (numerous) and the vagueness of "she". However, this is not posted for critting here (luckily! ) but to show James's inclination to rearrange prose into poetry merely by inserting line breaks, thus:


ENCROACHING DARKNESS

Darkness only becomes absolute when there is light.

Until my mother lit the candle
my eyes were adjusted to the gloom.
I could see the familiar lines of the room,
what I could not see, my mind filled in.
I could even see my Father’s form lying in bed;
but then the flickering glimmer showed me
it was imagination
and the deception of the seeping shadows.

My mother placed the taper beside
my father’s picture which rested on a chest.
I could hear her quiet sobs as kneeling,
she rested her head on her clenched hands.
It was as if she was praying at
some shrine to his memory.

I wanted to cry out:
‘No! He is not dead!’
But my throat was choked
with my own tears and
I could not speak.
Besides, it was an untruth.

Those who were missing would never return.
But there was no illumination of their fate;
no window on our grief.
They disappeared in secret
and we mourned in darkness.

Everyone knew that the missing were taken.
A knock on the door in the dead of night.
That was how it worked.
Why waste money on trials for those
who were already condemned
by the blackness of their own hearts?

Then, like a meteor flashing
a brief glory of sparks across the night sky
she ignited our souls with her spirit
and we recognised the darkness for what it was.
And in her shining presence
there were no shadows to hide in,
no recourse, no concealment.
As fierce flames of freedom extinguished,
starved by choking darkness
of stagnant acceptance,
my Father’s beacon was snuffed out
beside her in some hell-hole.

But now that we have lived in that light,
we can never accept the totality of the darkness.
We will rekindle that flame
and one day the sun will rise again