RWP today says:
Today is Day 13, also known as your lucky day. Sarah J. Sloat has a wonderful prompt for you; it’s bound to get you going! She says,
I’m partial to the tried-and-true prompt that calls for starting a poem with a line written by another poet. For this go-round, it would be interesting to see what poets can launch using a line from Norman Dubie.
In his poems, Norman Dubie tells stories, sets scenes and paints landscape, sometimes lush and sometimes wretched. His writing is sure and vivid, and his language is beautiful. As you’ll see below, his similes are incomparable. If forced to compare him with anyone, I’d be more likely to pick a painter than another writer.
For this prompt, take a Dubie line to jumpstart a poem of your own. Your poem should be titled “Poem Starting with a Line from Norman Dubie.”
I offer a menu of possible first lines below:
The lights of the galaxies are strung out over a dipper of gin.
His chapel fell into flowers long ago.
A kiss is like a dress falling off a tall building.
Two houseflies are like two fiddles drying.
My favorite pastime has become the imaginary destruction of flowers.
In triplicate, he’s sent an application, listing grievances, to the stars.
You wondered about skin wrinkled by looking at jewels.
Her breasts filled the windows like a mouth.
In the near field an idle, stylish horse raised one leg.
Worlds are being told like beads.
The pearl slapdash of the moon is on the water.
Be sure to use the title suggested and credit Norman Dubie in your post!
Interested to find out more about a poet whose name was new to me I rushed off to the Poetry Foundation’s website and found tons of his stuff. After a little light reading I alighted on the line ‘his head is in / a brace like a white egg in a silver teaspoon.’ from the poem ‘Grand Illusion’ and decided that was the line for me. It was only after spending several hours doing nothing with it that I decided to chop the beginning off and leave myself with the egg and spoon. I may not be a goddess but I am undoubtedly domestic.
Poem Starting with a Line from Norman Dubie
A white egg in a silver teaspoon
is presented for your delectation.
You are at liberty, of course, to
merely eat it, but you might like to know
its shell may be peeled away
from its hard-boiled flesh and ground
to powder with a pestle and mortar. Mixed
with a little water you can, then, use it
to skim over the cracks that abuse
the luminous of your otherwise
fine skin, madame.
This is prose, really, I know. So I will call it a prose poem, even though I’m not quite sure what that is.