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October 23, 2005

In Praise of Dreams — by Wislawa Szymborska

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In my dreams
I paint like Vermeer van Delft.

I speak fluent Greek
and not just with the living.

I drive a car
that does what I want it to.

I am gifted
and write mighty epics.

I hear voices
as clearly as any venerable saint.

My brilliance as a pianist
would stun you.

I fly the way we ought to,
i.e., on my own.

Falling from the roof,
I tumble gently to the grass.

I've got no problem
breathing under water.

I've can't complain:
I've been able to locate Atlantis.

It's gratifying that I can always
wake up before dying.

As soon as war breaks out,
I roll over on my other side.

I'm a child of my age,
but I don't have to be.

A few years ago
I saw two suns.

And the night before last a penguin,
clear as day.
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Bnbnbm
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October 23, 2005 at 12:01 PM | Permalink


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Comments

can u plzz let me no sum syymbolic ways of recreating the poem like tell me some symbols i can make for each stanza

Posted by: harjot | Jun 5, 2008 11:37:42 PM

im doing a project on this poem and it doesnt seem to 'stun' me the way u ppl see it... whats so special about this??

Posted by: random guy | Sep 23, 2006 9:14:44 PM

It reminds me a little of one of my (many) favorite poems, "The Lost Work" by Tim Nolan:

Last night in a dream—I wrote a Tolstoy epic—set in my time—
all the details—exact—just right. There was an entire chapter

about the dull sound of marbles rolling across the linoleum floor.
Then—the desire for water became a recurring theme which led

to some confusion about the sex scenes—many of which took place
in frothy hot tubs at a Motel 6 just outside of town. I had to

rewrite—forever—the part where Death showed up at the corner bar—
she finally wore a black satin gown—drank warm tap water from a goblet.

The protagonist's devotion to aspirin did not go unnoticed—that—
along with his compulsion to frequently change the furnace filters.

When the terrorists arrived, they arrived unexpectedly—as expected—
yet—who would know they would wear the various faces of my cousins?

The epilogue ended up being far too long-much longer than the book itself—
which caused me—to remember—how much—I wanted to know the end.

Posted by: Shawn Lea | Oct 23, 2005 1:03:33 PM

Fantastic!

Posted by: Robin | Oct 23, 2005 12:52:19 PM

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