Memory at last has what it sought. My mother has been found, my father glimpsed. I dreamed up for them a table, two chairs. They sat down. Once more they seemed close, and once more living for me. With the lamps of their two faces, at twilight, they suddenly gleamed as if for Rembrandt. Only now can I relate the many dreams in which they've wandered, the many throngs in which I've pulled them out from under wheels, the many death-throes where they have collapsed into my arms. Cut off - they would grow back crooked. Absurdity forced them into masquerade. Small matter that this could not hurt them outside me if it hurt them inside me. The gawking rabble of my dreams heard me calling "mamma" to something that hopped squealing on a branch. And they laughed because I had .a father with a ribbon in his hair. I would wake up in shame. Well, at long last. On a certain ordinary night, between a humdrum Friday and Saturday, they suddenly appeared exactly as I wished them. Seen in a dream, they yet seemed freed from dreams, obedient only to themselves and nothing else. All possibilities vanished from the background of the image, accidents lacked a finished form. Only they shone with beauty, for they were like themselves. They appeared to me a long, long time, and happily. I woke up. I opened my eyes. I touched the world as if it were a carved frame. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALMSWOMEN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS TO ABYDOS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 4. THE MARKET-GIRL by THOMAS HARDY THEOCRITUS; A VILLANELLE by OSCAR WILDE THE MORAL FABLES: THE TALE OF THE COCK, AND THE JEWEL by AESOP SONNET: ENGLAND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH MORE WALKS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |