As the poet in residence for National Poetry Day, Ian will be keeping a blog for us in the days running up to October 4th. On the day itself listen out for his dulcet Barnsley tones on the radio or television. He will also be making an appearance in Sheffield to read Dream poetry – appropriately enough, from a bed in a local bed store!
Ian McMillan is writing a dream-themed poem especially for National Poetry Day, which you will be able to read here on October 4th. Details of his forthcoming UK tour can be seen here. http://www.uktouring.org.uk/ian-mcmillan/dates.htm
There are subtitles across the bottom of this dream.
Look: read them. Dreams swim in that sea beyond words,
Then they crawl out of that sea on things that only later
Will you recognise as legs. A kind of awkwardness.
‘I never dream, kid’ Uncle Charlie used to say,
But I knew he just didn’t remember them. Then one day
He said ‘ I had a dream last night’
What happened ? ‘A bloke spoke.’ What did he say ?
‘I couldn’t tell. The words seemed too far away; once
I’d started to make them out he faded into the light’
The dream slowly stands upright and begins to walk
Haltingly at first like an old man or a baby.
The dream pulls words from somewhere and begins to talk
In the language of poetry: I love you; what if; maybe...
Uncle Charlie. Me. You. The poems begin here
Where the words live. Where the dreams are.
Please click here to download the poem as a PDF file.
Look: read them. Dreams swim in that sea beyond words,
Then they crawl out of that sea on things that only later
Will you recognise as legs. A kind of awkwardness.
‘I never dream, kid’ Uncle Charlie used to say,
But I knew he just didn’t remember them. Then one day
He said ‘ I had a dream last night’
What happened ? ‘A bloke spoke.’ What did he say ?
‘I couldn’t tell. The words seemed too far away; once
I’d started to make them out he faded into the light’
The dream slowly stands upright and begins to walk
Haltingly at first like an old man or a baby.
The dream pulls words from somewhere and begins to talk
In the language of poetry: I love you; what if; maybe...
Uncle Charlie. Me. You. The poems begin here
Where the words live. Where the dreams are.
Please click here to download the poem as a PDF file.