There is a vast literature on dreams and dreaming. Yet the literature of sleep is much smaller. Sleep is a human universal, perhaps the only human universal. Yet the direct experience of sleep is not one we have access to – so the literature is full of twilight states, hypnapompism, hypnagogism. This poem, especially the last stanza, captures something of sleep itself (yet even then, as an absence (“the violins were no more nor eyes nor arms)
I
slowly the ponderous doors of lead imponderous
pushed by a wedging force unthinking opened
how like a cloud I floated down the dim green air
unthinking of the soft violence of odorous winds
the falling plaint of hidden violins
and eyes
following
II
doors unto doors unfolded downward
and I was like unto a sailing ship
stern downward sailing on a dim green sea
unmindful of the rich push of flowery winds
the melting voices of far seraphims
and arms
following
III
slowly the ponderous doors of lead imponderous
lowered above my head in absolute slow closing
quiet as a shadow on a dim green wall
I rested in my dark and ivory vault
the violins were no more nor eyes nor arms
hours on hours
following
