The thing was,
you couldn’t watch all of them
(not all at once.)
He began to make a whining noise–
unaware in his locked concentration
that he was making any sound
His eyes darted,
from one hedge creature to the next
Trying to see them
The wind gusted
making a hungry rattling sound
in the close matted branches.
What kind of sound would there be
(if they got him?)
But of course he knew.
A snapping, rending, breaking sound.
(It would be–)
no no NO NO
I WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS
NOT AT ALL!
He clapped his hands to his over his eyes
clutching at his hair, his forehead
(his throbbing temple.)
And he stood like that
Until he could stand it no longer
and he pulled his hands away.
The idea behind a found poem is to take a paragraph from a book, and break it down into lines that form a poem. I borrowed this one from Stephen King’s The Shining.
It’s one of my favorite scenes, and although it didn’t make into the movie version, I can’t fault Stanley Kubrick for that. I don’t know how you would render this in a film without it completely devolving into comedy.