A Dream

(Note: As a teenager I never kept a diary of my real life because it was so dull and uninteresting to me. Instead, I kept a diary of my dreams and have had the ability to recall many of them upon waking. Some of these dreams make it into my journals such as this one.)

We were an army on patrol or something like that during a war, and an enemy attack commenced, with fighter planes strafing us. It was some kind of semi-rural town setting with houses and open spaces.

We were discussing poetry while fighting took place... machine gun fire, explosions and the loud assertion that the poet's content and character should dictate the poem's style. Style flows out of the person. I then exclaimed, as bullets flew, that a good example was Heathcliffe's poem in Wuthering Heights.

The irony here is that I've never read W.Hts nor do I know whether Heathcliffe ever made any poems, though I do not doubt it and ought to find them if he did.
August 1, 1996


For a link to a handful of additional dreams which I have posted online, visit:
http://www.enewman.biz/dreams.html