Yesterday I had a poem
workshopped that consisted of three parts. The end of the second part described a dream I'd had, which fell under the scrutiny of some people in my seminar. The obvious question arose: to use or not to use a dream in a poem? One classmate told me, "No, never!" Another told me he didn't have a problem with it, insinuating that typically he's wary of their appearances. Others left it unmarked.
I've never had a problem with dreams in poems. In fact, I rather enjoy them. I don't know if this is strictly a personal aesthetic, or if there is more to the debate. Is using a dream too cheap of a way to include metaphor? An easy image? A dramatic ploy to engage the reader or exaggerate the mood?
I decided to include my dream in my poem because it was, as I felt, applicable and appropriate given the emotions. It was the first time I've incorporated an actual dream into a poem. I always have such vivid dreams, though this wasn't always the case. Sleep used to come easily to me--I could pass out within minutes and not wake up until morning. Then, Summer 2006: I began waking up every night at 2 a.m. without fail. Since then the pattern has only continued, even reaching its current point when I'll wake up again at 4 a.m.
In those valued hours of uninterrupted sleep, I often dream. Some are pleasant (think of the late Selena singing "Dreaming of You"). Some are terrifying (you know, the ones where you actually die and know you're dying). The rest are either fun (I really
do wish I had a second floor to my apartment but with slides instead of stairs) or mystifying. But isn't that part of the excitement of actually remembering your dreams?
Anyway, I have no idea where I wanted this to go, but I'll bring it back to poetry. Below is one of my favorite poems by Nick Flynn that doesn't hide from using a dream as a device.
Bag of Mice
I dreamt your suicide note
was scrawled in pencil on a brown paperbag,
& in the bag were six baby mice. The bag
opened into darkness,
smoldering
from the top down. The mice,
huddled at the bottom, scurried the bag
across a shorn field. I stood over it
& as the burning reached each carbon letter
of what you'd written
your voice released into the night
like a song, & the mice
grew wilder.
Cleaning up the earth since '89. Check out my partner's pants.
Listening to some jams while waiting for food. Still a theme in my life.
Waiting for the bus on the first day of kindergarten, showing off my awesome name tag.
Don't ask me. Probably just getting ready to dance the night away. Curse the curfew that kept me in my pj's.
The closest my brother and I have ever been, as you can tell from my expression. Nice dino sweater though, big brother.
Just graduating from preschool (I leaned on the red crayon because it went with the outfit).
