Once in 2017, I set out to put together a collection of the poems I’d written in the previous five years. I called it “Dialogue of Dreams,” and it was quite honestly abysmal. It just didn’t work. (Many thanks to Jessica and Garrett for indulging me with much feedback, nonetheless).
I returned to it recently and, though my assessment hadn’t changed, I found many lines I loved, and I decided that it deserved resuscitation. This new form can hardly be called a “collection” of poems because I’ve woven them into one narrative. But I also hate to think of it as a single poem because so many of the pieces feel independent to me. Instead, I like to think of it as a recollection of those poems.
If anything especially resonates with you, I’d love to know. These lines have resonated in me for years, which is why I composed, collected, and recollected them, so I love knowing where others feel connected to the weight(s) these words hold in my heart.
Some (hopefully) helpful (but non-explanatory) context (feel free to skip or to come back after reading):
I couldn’t preserve the format by copying the poem, so I’ve copied images of the poem. Doing this creates an extra big gap between pages, which shouldn’t be interpreted as meaningful.
Punctuation and grammar are purposefully incorrect at points, so that should be interpreted as meaningful—let me know if you have a guess at the purpose(s) of the variances!
I’ve experienced sleep paralysis off and on for many years, which can often feel like being buried, or like something is sitting on your chest. It’s frequently accompanied by strong auditory and/or visual hallucinations (in my last episode, it sounded like there was a HAM radio next to my bed with random people narrating their lives or sending out advertisements). In many cultures, it’s interpreted as a demonic visitation because it’s often accompanied by acute terror and/or the sensation of a maleficent presence. (No need to express sympathies—it was scary when I first experienced it in 4th grade (I was convinced I was seeing ghosts), but I know how to get out of it really quickly now (if I want to) through mindfulness techniques, and these days I tend to find the experience often humorous and always interesting).
“Soliloquy” is a term from theater to describe a character thinking their thoughts out loud to themselves regardless of who hears them.
“Requies” is the plural of “requiem,” and there should be a stress on the final “es,” and the “s” should be unvoiced, like in the first syllable of “essay.”
“Imagines mortium” means “reminders/analogies/images of death.” The “g” in “imagines” should be hard like in “goat” and end with the same stressed “es” and with the consonant unvoiced, like in “requies.” The “a” in “imagines” should also be stressed and sound like the “a” in “father.” The “um” in “mortium” should be pronounced like “oom.” This all matters for the prosody
There are a few neologisms lurking in these lines. If you spot them, let me know what you think!
It’s helpful to keep in mind that the author of a poem isn’t always the same as the “speaker” of a poem. I like to think of my own poetry as an exploration of moods and images, some of which belong to my past or present, and some of which I’ve imagined. This one contains a mix of both. So when it says “I,” it might not actually be me, Josh, but just the speaker of that part of the poem. This is a poem that glides between voices, so you’ll encounter a number of speakers, some more obviously different than others (the original title was “Dialogue of Dreams,” after all). I’d be curious to hear how many different speakers people identify!
I’ve tried to bury a number of allusions as easter eggs for my fellow lovers of literature. Some few are embarrassingly obvious, but I’m interested to hear what allusions people catch and what significance they might ascribe to them!
May dandelions (emphatically not a weed) bloom in you over the weekend,
Until next time,
Josh