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Robert Lindner
Because of the recent classmates that have passed,
I searched my memories of the time and found
myself in the dreams of my youth.
Dreams of My Youth
“When the shy star goes forth in heaven,
All maidenly, disconsolate,
Hear you, amid the drowsy even’,
One, who is singing at your gate?
His song is softer than the dew,
And he has come to visit you.”
When the shy star goes forth in heaven
By James Joyce
My dreams speak with my voice,
But they say what they will. I have no choice.
Last night, someone, who was
Not me, but was, because it’s always me that gnaws
At me. These dreams spoke in words of James Joyce,
I’m not him, but he’s me,
In my youthful dream, who else would he be?
Though my dream would confuse
Me, it gave me clues. And since I’m my own muse,
I’ll use the clues to solve the mystery
Of my dream. The first clue
Was this, “His song is softer than the dew.”
Quoting James Joyce. I found,
As Eventide came round, those words, I knew their sound.
Was an old poem becoming new.
A poem that led me
To Joyce and our, now, distant youth, when we
Read his works, and because,
There’s an artist who draws on a moocow that was
There for the artist I wanted to be.
I knew it was my plan,
My message from my muse. Now I can
Make it a song to play,
To dance the night away, an Irish jig that’s “A
Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man.”
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