Awhile back, I gave myself the task of writing one long, continuous blackout poem from Lewis Carrol’s Alice in Wonderland. This is the result of that challenge, which was roughly four months in the making. The result is far stranger than I thought it might turn out to be, and took directions I never intended.
A small note about the physicality of the project: You will notice that the use of a Sharpie upon each page caused significant bleedthrough, rendering the page on the opposite side unreadable and unusable from the standpoint of the poem. I felt it would be more true to the nature of a blackout poem to accomodate for this, letting the physical properties of the book, not the original story, guide this new narrative. Thus the poem was written using text from every other page.
If you enjoy the poem, have questions or want to rake me over the coals for defacing such a cornerstone of literature, please know that comments are available. Also, I’d wish to point out that this was a paperback reprint with a glued binding that I spared every expense in acquiring, so it’s not like this was an original. You can find plenty of discarded versions at your local landfill, so I found it more appropriate to give this copy a second life.
Blackout Wonderland
A found poetry edition with Complete Illustrations by Sir John Tenniel. (With great apologies to Mr. Lewis Carrol.) “Down to nothing! No thought or pleasure And nothing afterwards! Time, and a rabbit Burning.” Alice soon began talking again: “Tonight, remember: I wish you afraid, For all dark was the wind As it made a Golden Key. And so it was: The Golden Key See it Through the glass and the tears And reach Into the garden.” Alice looked down and went on: “The Golden Key. The garden. Get through!” She must have been changed, For her voice sounded hoarse And strange And right. “I must. I shall. I’ll not stay down here,” I said. She and I began the way. Her eyes said nothing. So began the fright and fancy. If she had known, Alice refused to tell. There was more to be said, To be, And to make all eyes anxiously fixed. First, in a circle, There began a chorus of voices. Pointing with one finger, Alice said gravely: “FURY! Let us go! I’ll take no trial! I’ll be judge, I’ll be jury, I’ll try you to death!” The muttering dropped. In a moment, she began hunting. Hunting. “Fetch me who I am!” she said. “The real Alice!” And she began the magic. She grew still. And wish and wonder fancied That she answered herself. “Why, there’s hardly room for YOU.” She went on, Taking one side, Then the other. Then Alice opened inwards, And made a snatch in the air. She drew and waited. She heard herself. One sharp chorus: Then silence. Alice and I began moving again. A little way forwards, A good way off. Escape. Out of distance, and flowers and circumstances. Under sides. Over the edge. Alice looked out. “You know, I was changed.” “What do you mean by that,” I said. Alice replied: “In my youth, I feared. But now, I have tougher bones And strength from silence. To be content,” said Alice, Is not to grow. The other side of the moment Is to see its meaning. Be free! What are you? I can see you’re trying.” I remembered the changes She had gone through and, Looking among the trees, Among the branches, Set to work carefully growing. Suddenly, the wood rapped loudly. It was opened by Alice. She began whistling and went in. The smoke in the air was howling In a violence that could grin. “I speak severely,” Said the steam and open air. “Don’t take me anxiously For I’ll have nothing more to do with you.” “What am I to do with YOU?” said Alice. “You growl when pleased. When I’m growling… Call it play!” It vanished. There was a tree in the between And Alice sat down. “I offer without being invited,” said Alice, “For you should learn: The grumbled nothing? It tells what stays the same.” “You poured a little riddle,” I replied. “The slightest,” said Alice. “You, as well as I, Spoke to music. If only in a twinkling.” “Now, keep moving,” said Alice. “As things come, they change. “I, the young lady— And you, the once great hurry, Who took a great interest in questions.” Alice and I walked off. She looked once. Twice… The last time, into the wood. One of the trees had a door. She said, “The Golden Key! The garden!” The garden. Growing on. Red, curious, and nearer now. I looked, and Alice stood round. “All should know courage. Head decidedly, carefully, to the rose,” said Alice. “Its rolled-up wonder Is a curious first.” She made a grin. “I shall have to play fairly. How confusing it is… Being alive.” Alice went on And spoke of life And time: That it belongs To the Executioner. "Pleasant and savage," she said, "Vinegar and barley-sugar. I wish people knew about time. Imagine: What might appear. What might have been. What would be otherwise." Alice died away, And there stood the Queen. "I give you the Queen," said Alice. Alice was the Queen. The Queen and Alice. “Come on!" She and I followed on: To mystery, ancient and modern, To stiff hours called lessons. "That's enough," The back of a voice said. "You have lived much, you two. You advance, set to change. Will you join the dance? Take a look: There is another shore upon the other side. Turn not pale: Join the dance." I yawned and shut eyes. To dance. To fall a long way. Alice began repeating: "Stand up sluggard!" I got up. "'Tis the voice of the brown tide," said she, hastily. "The Chorus cried and Had begun the end. Come on!" Queen Alice said, Becoming the last word, The meaning of it all. However, she and I hadn’t quite finished, for the King had followed. “I, the jury! The answer. The explanation. The pale King At the end of trials.” “If that’s all you know, Then sit down. Lay in dismay and die,” Said Alice. Said the Queen. “Be a prisoner to which you directed. Outside, a set of verses shall begin. Please, begin.” “The meaning that saves,” I said, “and know it to be true: One, Two, All returned from the dream.” Alice got up and ran off in the after-time, Her Wonderland A pleasure in the end.
Blackout Wonderland