Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Poetry Wednesday

The Good Night and Good Morning 

He knew he was asleep and was dreaming   
      Of a beautiful poem. It seemed to be singing   
            Itself in the night, and he woke   
In a bed in a room in an old hotel   
      And lay there, hearing the song go on   
            Though he could see the shape   
Of his empty shirt on the straight chair   
      And his empty shoes on the patch of carpet   
            Made light, half by the moon   
And half by the gray beginning   
      Of dawn. He could see the silhouette   
            Of his own hand against the window shade   
Like a flower, open and waiting. He smiled   
      At the foolishness of loving his own poem   
            In his own dream, of accepting praise   
From his own shadow. But his mind's eye   
      Kept seeing that poem and his real ear   
            Kept hearing that same song. It came from the street   
Under his window, and before he knew why,   
      He was out of bed and shivering his way   
            Into what were some of his clothes   
And one of his shoes and stumbling   
      Into the hall and down the unlighted stairs   
            And through the lobby (where the clerk was dreaming
Something else), through the stubbornly locked door   
      And along the sidewalk to the curb where the singer   
            Was sweeping trash and leaves along the gutter   
With his slow broom, who now stopped, his mouth   
      Open to gape at an apparition   
            Holding a scrap of paper up to his face   
And begging him to read aloud. The sweeper whispered   
      He couldn't read. And Lorca took him   
            Into his arms and kissed him and kissed   
The morning air, now stirring what was left   
      Of the leaves overhead, and went limping back   
            Through a door that stood wide open   
And a grand lobby and up the stairs into bed   
      To lie there stark awake as sleeplessly   
            As a poet who'd been told he was immortal.

Federico Garcia Lorca


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