Writing off the page

One of my favorite writing exercises is "Writing Off the Page".  I can't remember where I learned this. Probably in one of those "How to Write Good!" books. You take a poetry book or use whatever book is within reach, or a favorite one, or pick a random one off the shelf. I've found this works best with a poetry book because it's easy to find a line of appropriate intensity and length. Open the book to any page, take a line from the page, copy it into your notebook or type it into your notepad, and take it from there. If you get stuck writing off the page, just rewrite the first line and start again, continuing your writing, or going off in an entirely new direction. I do  this exercise often, sometimes with good results, sometimes not.

This morning I picked a random poem from "A Year with Rilke". It was this one, from his "Book of Hours" set.

"The Beauty of You"

In deep nights I dig for you like treasure.
For all I have seen
that clutters the surface of my world
is a poor, paltry substitute
for the beauty of you
that has not happened yet...

I felt cheated by what felt like an unfinished poem. It felt like just a sketch, a doodle on a napkin. I loved the first line but it fizzled from there, to the last line dropping off into ...

So, being the slightly arrogant poet that I am (all poets should have a healthy degree of arrogance!) I decided to write off the page from the beautiful first line and this is what I wrote.


"The Beauty of You"

In the depths of the dark I dig for you
Like a miner hunting diamonds
Grasping for the glimmer of your heart
Listening for that dancing footfall
With ears attuned to that chance.
By candlelight I scry into shadows
And sigh for a twinkle of eye-shine
Hoarding those emerald memories
Like winter trees hold the gems of Spring.

Then, to take arrogance on step more, I invented a new writing exercise. I took my own poem and reflected it backwards.

Like gems of Spring held by winter's trees,
Memories like emeralds are still green,
Preserved by sighs and twinkles of hope
On a shrine of candlelight and crystals.
Tuned to the music of a chance of a dance,
Dreaming of steps that rhyme in time,
An empty grasp seeks to span the distance,
Digging up diamonds in the dark.

Maybe it isn't the greatest of poetry but it was certainly a lot of fun writing off the page today.