A poem by Stan Raines (revised)

I
Last week, from the left, at dark
Beams of blue farm light
Clearly danced in my eye;
I turned to the right,
And they died.

II

Two days ago, at sunset
A dove made of smoke
Gathered itself before me,
Rose, and dove straight down,
Through my eye.

III
Yesterday, in high relief,
The sun’s light became
Women of bronze, dancing forms
Whom I have loved
Till night’s fall.

 IV

And just now out my window
Dawn has flamed its way
into my head and sings:
“It is the life that pulses through;
All for you, all for you.”

This poem, written in the Seventies, has bothered me for quite some time. I included it in the chapbook Poems of Youth, but every time I read it to a group, the first three sections spoke of clear experiences but the fourth lay hollow and empty. I put it up last night but then, through a series of dreams which seemed to be centered on insomnia, the last image clarified itself and, after having disposed of an essay on the current election season, ten minutes brought the necessary revisions and experience moves through the whole piece. Yes, it is private experience, but, honestly, is there any other kind?

Of course, there is the question of the legitimacy of revising a thirty-year-old poem. But recall that Walt Whitman kept Leaves of Grass in revision nearly to his death bed. More troubling in the case of my poetry, so often meant to describe a nearly indescribable internal state–inneffable, Samuel Becket called it– is it really possible to recapture that state and correct the deficiencies of its description?

Well, I’ll leave that for you to judge. Obviously, I have decided in the positive. As I came out of the dream, the answer was clear: read again the first stanzas and follow the trail they establish. Whether it works or not, I’m happy with the poem at last.