Evanescent dreams

If I could grow wings
I’d start my flight in a field
full of Van Gogh’s yellow.

I’d fly high in the sky
above the tree tops,
the pylons, and smoke stacks, …
until people look like ants.

I’d feel the wind in my face,
rivalling with it, now,
and, flowing with it, then.

The yellow that first flooded my eyes
would now just be part
of a checkered patchwork,
with earthy tones,
and muted greens;
woolen here, silken there.
I’d see solar cells glitter,
fleetingly, as I pass.

I’d fly with the clouds,
and then above them—
cotton wool carpet
of purest possible white,
upon it, my shadow cast.
I’d see a halo,
around my own shadow,
with ALL the colours of the rainbow.

I’d feel the sun burning on my back,
fuel my eyes with sky’s blue,
and I’d wonder if my feathers, my wings,
were held together
by something as deliquescent
as Icarus’s wax.

Copyright © Quirina Roode-Gutzmer 2012.
All rights reserved.

I’m linking this poem to dVersepoets “Meeting the bar: Critique and craft” for the Stream-of-Consciousness prompt by Victoria C. Slotto.


33 thoughts on “Evanescent dreams

    • Thank you, Chris. Dreams may be evanescent, but perhaps they would not have that magical quality if their tangibility was like stone. And at least, there will always be more dreams …

      • You’re right! It’s like that in-between time when you are waking up in the morning, coming into awareness, but still half in dreams. The dream world is slipping away, slipping through your fingers and your mind. It’s tangible while you are in that liminal state, and then it’s gone. That’s exactly what makes it so special.
        Thanks for your comment on my balloon poem. I’m glad that we meet in the ether! 🙂

  1. Enjoyed this flight. Your both “rivalling the wind” and “flowing with it” remind’s me of the audacity of Shelley’s triumphant finale to “Ode to the West Wind”, and also the almost heretical but beautiful rebel soul of Byron’s “Manfred”. Two of the most courageous phenomenons in verse, in my opinion. Also, having grown up amidst still-standing Victorian era textile mills, I always love the appearance of “smokestacks” in a poem.

    • Thank you, Gerard. “Ode to the West Wind” is indeed a poem sounding almost like Beethoven’s fifth symphony. And Byron’s “Manfred” fascinates me for its Faustian essence. The smoke stacks I was referring to were based on real ones, here in Saxony, most of which were indeed built in the Victorian era.

  2. This did remind me of a painting – Van Gogh in terms of colour, or perhaps Frida Kahlo. Did you have a painterly inspiration for this, or was it indeed a dream landscape?

    • Thank you, Marina. I love Van Gogh’s paintings and he had an obsession with yellow. My poem was actually inspired by my flight to London last week. I scribbled in my little note book what I experienced, what I saw … and then I let the scribbles evolve into a poem …

  3. This is lovely, Quirina…I enjoyed reading very much & reminds me of a pact you & I have to go & see Vincent some day in Amsterdam 🙂 I love these lines: “I’d feel the wind in my face,
    rivalling with it, now,
    and, flowing with it, then.” …but ALL of it sings with the colours of a rainbow…beautiful poem! 🙂 xx

    • Thank you so much, Louise. We do indeed have a pact to go and visit Vincent, and we will. The wind is also metaphoric for life, that we sometimes go against it, and sometimes with it, and the most important thing is to acknowledge or to observe when we do this … this is mindfulness.

  4. I get reminded of Reinhard Mey’s (in Germany) famous song “Über den Wolken”: “Über den Wolken / muss die Freiheit wohl grenzenlos sein / Alle Ängste, alle Sorgen bleiben darunter verborgen / und dann würde, was uns groß und wichtig erscheint / plötzlich nichtig und klein”. Dreams are deliquescent but nevertheless very solid in a way. Always keep your wings!

    • Thank you so much, Martin. What a lovely song. I went and listened to it. And yes, these lyrics reflect the image of my poem very much. And yes to wings, and yes to flying and dreams …

    • Well, I must admit, Ben used it before me, but it wasn’t like I planned to use that word. That word just came to me in that moment and seemed to be the bridge between the tangible world where things melt, to the dream world, where they, well, deliquesce …

  5. What a wonderful poetic daydream, Quirina ~ beautiful! And I really love:

    and I’d wonder if my feathers, my wings,
    were held together
    by something as deliquescent
    as Icarus’s wax.

    The perfect ending 🙂

  6. i have always hoped to fly like that… a dream…i like how you give perspective along the way as well, the patchwork below…and here is to hoping it is made of a little sterner stuff than icarus’

    • Thank you, Brian, there is a bird’s eye view that we get in dreams and fortunately the dream world is always there, even if the wax melts, we can always go back there again. 🙂

  7. nice…i’m always up to some flying..smiles..loved all the colors – van gogh’s yellow…very cool…and then the question in the closure…i’m sure the wings hold..fly on..

  8. For me the stream of consciousness- where this really be be ones conscious- is those last few lines in the ending….’Icarus’ wax’- shows you self questioning….which was a really nice turn on a really beautifully written and colourful poem….I felt myself soaring in your words!!!

    • Thank you so much, Stuart. I found your comment in the spam folder for some reason. I really appreciate your in-depth comment. What is contained in the ending of the poem is what it is all about … the evanescence …

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