It was winter. It was the city. It was night.
It was bitter cold.
The streets were covered
with a thick, black glassy layer of ice,
like the bottom of beer bottles.
It hurt her to breathe.
The air was dense
with gray sleet and it tickled
and prickled her face like
the gray frozen bristles of her fur cape.
Her heart thumping, she walked
through the deserted streets past
the steaming doors of cheap teashops
and restaurants. Faces as red as sausages
and horses' and dogs' heads
with beards of icicles emerged
from the mist.
A thick crust of ice and snow covered
the windows, and the coloured
reflections of lighted Christmas trees
and the shadows of merrymakers
moved across their chalk-white opaque surfaces
as on magic lantern screens;
it was as though shows were being given
for the benefit of pedestrians.
In Kamerger Street Lara stopped.
"I can't go on. I can't bear it."
The words almost slipped out.
"I'll go up and tell him everything."
Pulling herself together,
she went in through the heavy door.
Author notes
Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak translated by Max Hayward and Manya Harari
Part One, Chapter 3:8 The Sventitskys' Christmas Party
(page 68, Signet 1958, 35th printing)
It was winter. It was the city. It was night.
It was bitter cold. The streets were covered with a thick, black glassy layer of ice, like the bottom of beer bottles. It hurt her to breathe. The air was dense with gray sleet and it tickled and prickled her face like the gray frozen bristles of her fur cape. Her heart thumping, she walked through the deserted streets past the steaming doors of cheap teashops and restaurants. Faces as red as sausages and horses' and dogs' heads with beards of icicles emerged from the mist. A thick crust of ice and snow covered the windows, and the coloured reflections of lighted Christmas trees and the shadows of merrymakers moved across their chalk-white opaque surfaces as on magic lantern screens; it was as though shows were being given for the benefit of pedestrians.
In Kamerger Street Lara stopped. "I can't go on. I can't bear it." The words almost slipped out. "I'll go up and tell him everything." Pulling herself together, she went in through the heavy door.
A contest entry
- a 'FOUND poem ~ free verse. "Gabriel's Dream" #60 by Lyndon.
2500 points, ended April 2, 2008, 11 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Text by Boris Pasternak, free verse interpretation
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Dear poet
Firstly, you have chosen well. Secondly, your lineation is good to very good. Thirdly, your verse paragraphs are well chosen.
Perhaps I may have worked one or two lines differently. Striven to begin lines more strongly.
"It hurt her to breathe.
The air was dense with gray
sleet and it tickled and prickled
her face like the gray frozen
bristles of her fur cape. "
However, I am the first to admit the whole business is truly subjective.
THank you and the best of our good management for your lovely found poem.
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Beautiful descriptions! Love the "gray frozen bristles of her fur cape" and "horses' and dogs' heads with beard of icicles." Vivid similie with "as on magic lantern screens." With such amazing descriptions, easy to see its success in the visual medium of the big screen!
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Wonderful job!
Prose really helps us to add those fine touches of
metaphor, and five senses to our writings.
I really enjoyed this poem and the sharing of the author!
well done dear poet, well done!
ears2hearyou
Kathleen/Seattle.
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Thank you for sharing ...
and how we miss 'free verse' such as this until it is taken out of context and shown in a new light! A good find on your part and it makes a great poem for a whole new reflection. I loved this movie so much that I saw it multiple times and kept seeing more each time. Good for you to see this and share it! joy
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I enjoyed this submission. I've never read Dr. Zhivago, nor have I seen the movie, but have always wanted to. I became acquainted with found poetry a little during a writing class some years ago. When I read now, I always look for it. There is a great appreciation for the written word which comes with good writing, and these entries are such great examples!
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WOW!
Proof that when
prose is not prosaic,
poetry is found
merely by adjusting
its form!
Perhaps the converse
is also true:
take any free verse,
adjust and punctuate
as paragraph form
for masterly prose!
An eye-opener!
Terry
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