Line Manager

Two days of doing other things and I’ve been flipped out of writing mode like a tiddlywink. Now here I am trying to roll out of the dog’s basket, and back on to the board.

So here is an exercise that can be played with without causing too much agony. It asks that we try and reinstate the line breaks in this poem*:

tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. out, out, brief candle! life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Here’s my attempt

tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps
in this petty pace from day to day,
to the last syllable of recorded time;
and all our yesterdays have lighted fools
the way to dusty death.
out, out, brief candle! life’s
but a walking shadow, a poor player
that struts and frets his hour upon the stage
and then is heard no more:
it is a tale told by an idiot,
full of sound and fury,
signifying nothing.

I’ll post the original tomorrow.

*from the online course I’m doing with Cal Arts.