Feb
27
Not Sleeping, but Dreaming
I am repeating myself. Posting a similar query here and there to see what people have to say. Because it might be in John Berryman's Dream Songs (variously packaged) where I first found poetry. I lived a life dedicated to words long before I knew of Berryman, and I was already a poet when I found him. Yet the Dream Songs were a living poetry to me. Berryman hadn't been long dead when I found these poems, which were vulgar and urbane, witty and turgid, vernacular and formal, and filled with extravagances of the language like I hadn't seen before. And not really since.
And he had an ear.
And he had an ear.