{"id":490,"date":"2010-02-26T12:17:58","date_gmt":"2010-02-26T12:17:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/nucleus-import\/?p=490"},"modified":"2010-02-26T12:17:58","modified_gmt":"2010-02-26T12:17:58","slug":"review-ofdream-by-kwame-dawes-from-collection-wisteria-by-mahnaz-badihian","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/review-ofdream-by-kwame-dawes-from-collection-wisteria-by-mahnaz-badihian\/","title":{"rendered":"Review of\u201dDream\u201d by Kwame Dawes from collection Wisteria by: Mahnaz Badihian"},"content":{"rendered":"
kwame Dawes<\/div>\n

\nThis poem has political and racial messages. Although the poem \u201cDream\u201d is a delicate poem it contains the harsh reality of racial issues that existed and to some degree still exists in America.…
\nReview of\u201dDream\u201d by Kwame Dawes from collection Wisteria
\n
\nDream
\nIn New York State, the farms spread
\nWith familiar patient grace;
\nThe sky is big, a fabric of colors<\/p>\n

Changing in the dazzling light,
\nThe worn wood of ancient barns,
\nThe timeless drag of farm critters.<\/p>\n

In the distance, I see the trail
\nOf a train, crawling south,
\nNaming the mystery of cities,<\/p>\n

Keys to my heart. I long
\nFor the simple smells of swamp earth,
\nThe fingers of the soil holding me.<\/p>\n

In this reverie, dreaming my body
\nToward the factory where we make bombs
\nIt is easy to forget the dancing lights<\/p>\n

Circling the stern street-lamp
\nThere on Moore Street, the flashing
\nScared eyes of the Klansman; boys<\/p>\n

I know I seen naked, heard bawl,
\naflame with something searing,
\nThe sick hate of a boy-child for a mother<\/p>\n

Wanting so much to be a man among men,
\nWilling to slaughter love for the company
\nOf masculine smells, grunts, laughter.<\/p>\n

I turn away from the memory, longing
\nFor the swamp only. The train whistles soft
\nThrough the big space. Time is still. I linger<\/i>.<\/p>\n

\nThe poem has nine triplet stanzas with unequal length. Each stanza begins with the letter \u201cI\u201d. The narrator at the beginning of this poem sharply announces that he is in a farm in New York. The first four stanzas are a beautiful explanation of the farm. The sequence of the words is pleasing to the tongue and ear. Gertrud Stein once said: \u201cWhy should a sequence of words be anything but a pleasure\u201d. We can sense this pleasure in the poem \u201cDream\u201d.
\n\u2026… the farm spread
\nWith familiar patient grace,
\nThe sky is big, a fabric of colors<\/i>
\nThe syntax in these three lines takes the reader to the farm and shares the joy with the narrator. The use of the word \u201cspread\u201d is so beautifully used, it reminds you of spreading a table cloth which the poet cleverly encourages with the use of \u201c fabric of colors\u201d to describe the sky and its many colors. By describing the vastness of sky as a reader I felt I am walking in this big, beautiful farm in the evening hours; a place that is safe and peaceful. One can say if the sequence of words is pleasing to read, then the music in the line is enjoyable too.
\nIf we look at the third stanza we can see the concentration of similar sounding letters that make this poem rhythmic and musical.
\nIn the distance I see the trail
\nOf a train, crawling south,
\nNaming the mystery of cities,<\/i>
\nAll these words have the intension to create music or harmony when pronounced. The same is true when we look at the words in the fourth stanza; we can find rhythm and pleasure in reading these three lines as well:
\nKeys to my heart, I long
\nFor the simple smells of swamp earth,
\nThe fingers of the soil holding me.
\n<\/i>
\nOne can say that the poem \u201cDream\u201d is a well designed free verse poem that does not follow the restrained pattern of given forms.
\nThe narrator is imagining a journey from New York to the south on a train with a goal to smell the simple swamp earth. This serene journey is interrupted with the memory and thoughts of the Klu Klux Klan.
\nCircling the stern street-lamp
\nThere on Moore Street, the flashing
\nScared eyes of the Klansmen; boys
\n<\/i>
\nIt seems that the narrator has taken this journey once before and recalls specific moments that continue to hurt him upon remembrance. Despite the traumatic memory, the smell and aroma of the swamp stays strong and pleasing, \u201cThe fingers of the soil holding me\u201c. Because of the strength of the positive memory of the swamp that holds him, he decides only to think about the smell and aroma of the swamp earth and nothing else and to turn away from a memory that bothers him.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I turn away from the memory, longing
\nFor the swamp only. The train whistles soft
\nThrough the big space. Time is still. I linger.<\/i><\/p>\n

This poem has political and racial messages. Although the poem \u201cDream\u201d is a delicate poem it contains the harsh reality of racial issues that existed and to some degree still exists in America.
\nDespite the hurtful and negative images, this is a positive poem, a good dream not a nightmare. The poem\u2019s strongest point and metaphor is the line\u201dfingers of the soil\u201d. This is a strong, earthy and beautiful line.
\n….
\nmahnaz badihian<\/b><\/i><\/b><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This poem has political and racial messages. Although the poem \u201cDream\u201d is a delicate poem it contains the harsh reality of racial issues that existed and to some degree still exists in America.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":546,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[45],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/490"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/546"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=490"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/490\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=490"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=490"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=490"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}