At night, when all the colours die,
they hide in pairs
and read about themselves—
in colour, with their eyelids shut.
—Craig Raine, from “A Martian Sends a Postcard Home”
Sleep and dreams and dreaming are easy fodder for poets, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful description of it than here. I’ve used the “back of the eyelids” idea twice in my novels, but neither even nearly as gorgeously as here.
Last week: Natalie Haynes licks the bear.
Next week: Ezra Pound punches above his weight.
See the index for what’s been posted and what’s to come.
I'd love to hear from you!