Dreams of a Poet
You know, I almost named this blog Dreams of a Poet, but frankly, I thought it was a wee bit pretentious for a rambling, disconnected collection of ruminations on the craft and work of writing poetry in the twenty first century. Sure some of my dreams make it into my poems, that is a given, in fact, I've written a couple of poems specifically about my own dreams, but today, I am looking at the Dreamworld itself, and how it touches and unhinges poets more so than the average joe.
Poets are different from novelists, or essayists, or even jingle smiths. It has been said that the difference between reality & fiction is that fiction has to make senses, but for poets, that is a secondary consideration. Poets are all about wrestling and wrangling exactly the right words into place, making them stand to attention, and wrapping them around ideas that are obvious after we state them, but not always before.
But poets are special, in that they have a connection to the dreamworld, the gestalt, the land of Morpheus and Ovid. Poets tap into the madness, the chaotic swirl of what you want and what you cannot have, and poets have the ability to show you what you are missing.
But such vision, as it must, comes with a price...
Which brings us to....
Dreams of a Poet
The toiling poet drank deeply of the sap of sane pleasures,
he exulted mightily in the cold beauty of dead stars.
He built careless bonfires of his demented sorrows,
and laughed a lunatic’s mirth in the light of their glorious blaze.
He sipped with resistance of a heart’s questing romance,
mixed love maternal, familial and parental into a sloppy stew,
which he then ate, wiping it clean with the bread of betrayal
before draining the Scriptures dry for each last drop of peace.
In his toil, he wrung magic from the winepress of human nature,
stole raw gems from the deep mine of inner thought.
He scraped sweetness free from the honeycomb of innocence,
and left his muddied tracks in the minds of those who read his words.
Yet none of this was sufficient to ease his manic need.
Every dream of his sleep became a nightmare of missing pieces,
every rhyme a dancing will-o-the-wisp of promise,
haunting and prodding the poet to further trial, and ultimate error.
But when he finally cast aside all dreams, all ambition,
he found himself floating in the cool dark of sanctuary.
Guided by a tiny glimmer of light just within his grasp,
he found his soul, and it warmed him for all time.
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Shared with DVerse Poets for a prompt regarding dreams, and the poems they inspire.
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©2009 Christopher Reilley
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You know what I like?
ReplyDeleteI like something that makes me think. Your writing does that whether in poetic or statement form.
My memory isn't what it used to be so every once in a while, you send me off to Websters, but that's OK. It's good to know I'm no Einstein. Studying the language means one is studying your art. Bravo!
I'm onto your blog site now and there is much to read here. I'll be working on it. Thanks for the web site for poetry. I don't know what my stuff is, but I might as well get it out there and published. LOL
Keep up the good work.
Ken
I enjoyed this, Christopher - especially taken with your explanation at the start! We do have to suffer somewhat for our art...
ReplyDeleteI was drawn into and then immersed in your Dreams of a Poet, Christopher, embraced by the long lines and the pace of the poem. I love the phrases ‘sap of sane pleasures’, ‘mixed love maternal, familial and parental into a sloppy stew’, and ‘wrung magic from the winepress of human nature’. But my favourite is ‘left his muddied tracks in the minds of those who read his words’.
ReplyDeleteIn your intro, you give an exccellent description of what we poets do. And yuor poem drew me in to enjoy your phrasing/ I too love "left his muddied tracks in the minds of those who read his words".
ReplyDeleteIt seems I can only comment as Anonymous - who was one of the best poets BTW!
I'm Kim, the Cheesesellers Wife.
You have captured the poet's chasing after the wind very well!
ReplyDeleteQuite intense and depicts the internal struggles and desires of the poet very well. The "nightmares" and "will-o-the-wisp" imagery suggest that the poet is constantly chasing something that is just out of reach. I can relate to that very well. Nicely done!
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful thought, to finally find one’s soul Chris. I’ve been looking for almost 76 years, and though I think I may have come upon it a few times my friend — but it always seems to scurry off.
ReplyDeleteBTW — I think “Dreams of a Poet” is a great name for a poetry blog. If you write poetry long enough, the whole of the effort is rambling and disconnected — in a evolving creative sorta way, as our experiences accumulate, and our style morphs a bit with time and age.
Hi Christopher, I liked how you cascaded through some large, grand notions and settled finally in a very personal and calm space. Beautiful pace and rhythm. Carys Owen @carysowenpoetry
ReplyDeleteLove the conclusion and how much we as poets needs to cast aside those dreams. To me this speaks a lot like the contrast between the enlightenment and romantic. Maybe the challenge is to balance the two.
ReplyDeleteFabulous writing, Christopher! I think poetry is both soulful and mindful...but who knows where dreams take us?
ReplyDeleteLove this especially; "every rhyme a dancing will-o-the-wisp of promise,
ReplyDeletehaunting and prodding the poet to further trial, and ultimate error." 💘💘
The Muse goes where it will, and if you have discovered where it likes to go, bravo. The little light that keeps the soul warm is what it's all about. Wonderful and vulnerable sharing, Chris.
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