it was a dream
by Lucille clifton
in which my greater self
rose up before me
accusing me of my life
with her extra finger
whirling in a gyre of rage
at what my days had come to
what,
i pleaded with her, could i do,
oh what could i have done?
and she twisted her wild hair
and sparked her wild eyes
and screamed as long as
i could hear her
This. This. This.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
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Dreaming
About Me
- Theresa Williams
- Northwest Ohio, United States
- "I was no better than dust, yet you cannot replace me. . . Take the soft dust in your hand--does it stir: does it sing? Has it lips and a heart? Does it open its eyes to the sun? Does it run, does it dream, does it burn with a secret, or tremble In terror of death? Or ache with tremendous decisions?. . ." --Conrad Aiken
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Fave Painting: Eden
Fave Painting: The Three Ages of Man and Death
by Albrecht Dürer
From the First Chapter
The Secret of Hurricanes : That article in the Waterville Scout said it was Shake- spearean, all that fatalism that guides the Kennedys' lives. The likelihood of untimely death. Recently, another one died in his prime, John-John in an airplane. Not long before that, Bobby's boy. While playing football at high speeds on snow skis. Those Kennedys take some crazy chances. I prefer my own easy ways. Which isn't to say my life hasn't been Shake-spearean. By the time I was sixteen, my life was like the darkened stage at the end of Hamlet or Macbeth. All littered with corpses and treachery.
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4 comments:
Theresa,
I read this poem in college and found it very powerful. I still still moves me. I find the line "accusing me of my life" particularly fiery.
I can scarcely imagine a better call to change.
Erin
I've never read this before, but oh, do I know it. How absolutely perfect.
Oh, Theresa, I have been gone too long. This poem is magnificent! Thank you for posting it. Extremely a propos for me - and for many of us, I suspect!
Vicky
For me, the poem describes that space in a depressive episode when the individual is at a point of choice. There is a recognition of the painful depths that are available and equally, a rage against such self-flagellation.
Very striking!
V
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