Dreams Before Sleeping

The idea is to set the mind adrift And sleep comes. Mozart, exquisitely dressed, Walks carefully to work between soft piles Of fresh horse-dung. Nice work. Why was my gift Hidden behind the tree? I cried for miles.

No one could find it. Find the tiger’s face.

It’s in the tree: i.e. the strangest place.

But gifts were presents then. In fact, for short, We called them pressies, which was just as long, But sounded better. Mallarmé thought night A stronger word than nuit. Nice word. The fort Defied the tide but faded like a song When the wave’s edge embraced it at last light. Which song? Time, time, it is the strangest thing. The Waves. The Sea, the Sea. Awake and Sing.

Wrong emphasis, for music leads to sex.

Your young man must be stroking you awake Somewhere about now, in another time.

Strange thing. Range Rover. Ducks de Luxe. Lex rex.

The cherry blossoms fall into the lake.

The carp cruise undisturbed. Lemon and lime And bitters is a drink for drinkers. Just.

I who was iron burn in silence. Rust.

What would you do to please me, were you here? The tarte tatin is melting the ice cream.

One sip would murder sleep, but so does this. Left to itself, the raft floats nowhere near Oblivion, or even a real dream.

Strange word, nice question. Real? Real as a kiss, Which never lasts, but proves we didn’t waste The time we spent in longing for its taste.

Seek sleep and lose it. Fight it and it comes. I knew that, but it’s too late now. The bird Sings with its wings. The turtle storms ashore. Pigs fly. Would that translate to talking drums? Nice if they didn’t understand a word Each other said, but drowned in metaphor As we do when we search within, and find Mere traces of the peace we had in mind.

Forget about it. Just get up and write. But when you try to catch that cavalcade, Too much coherence muscles in. Nice thought. Let’s hear it, heartbreak. Happiness writes white. Be grateful for the bed of nails you made And now must lie in, trading, as you ought, Sleep for the pictures that will leave you keen To draft a memo about what they mean.

You will grow weary doing so. Your eyes Are fighting to stay open. When they fail You barely make it back to where you lay.

What do you see? Little to memorise.

A lawn shines green again through melting hail.

Deep in its tree, a tiger turns away.

Nice try, but it was doomed, that strange request To gaze into the furnace and find rest.

Clive James