0000000000000

More documents

Recommendations

Info

4 WRITING ON THE MOON NIGHT VISION SUSAN HANS, PhD I wrote this a number of years ago. My dream was interrupted by some crazy weather, obviously a harbinger of more to come. I was at my house in East Hampton, which was surrounded by wonderful old oaks. Having sold it in 2008, I miss it a lot and have since heard that the folks who bought the house cut down many of the trees because of their messy sap and leaves; you know—life … The trees keep me awake Old oaks wild with the wind Echo the afternoon ocean’s roar High above my room Shades banging against the panes Interrupt soft dreams of bygone loves Sight can pretend the night is still Yet insistent sound screams nature’s tantrum— Look at me, look at me! Pulling the tattered cord down Expecting dark roiling clouds To obscure the almost full moon In such a noisy woods But stars surprise my eyes Trees scratch the spangled sky Tornado on earth, heavenly peace above The crazed contrast banishes sleep Susan Hans, PhD, is a psychologist/psychoanalyst and supervisor in private practice in New York City. She cites her poetry “career” as stemming from the third grade when she penned her first work, “Bonnie and Her Dog.” In more recent years, the creative inspiration she finds for her poems and songs often comes to her in the form of dreams or reveries.
DREAMS AS POETRY 5 PSYCHOANALYSIS: A DREAM VICTORIA POLLOCK, MA I had this dream about me and my analyst. It’s disguised as an erotic poem about my analysis. I think it’s about feeling that psychoanalytic intimacy is transgressive. In the dream there is the thrill of wrongdoing. However, what I find really thrilling is working closely together, shoulder to shoulder, head to head, and somehow penetrating each other in ways that feel out of control and ecstatically wrong, but are, in fact, right. They are sitting on the floor, They lean hard against each other. Studying the cell phone, Too close, Transgressive, Their bodies crash together, side by side, as if it’s not happening at all, but it is. Longing, balled up tight like paper tossed in a trash can, unfolding. They are falling into and through each other with everything they’ve got. Victoria Pollock, MA, RSW, RMFT, Toronto, Canada, is a psychoanalyst and psychotherapist in private practice and is an adjunct faculty member at the School of Theology at the University of Toronto. She writes, “On Tuesdays I sing and dance and talk to people at the soup kitchen; as far as I know, nobody minds.”
Page 2: WRITING ON THE MOON
Page 5: For David and Lizabeth and In Memor
Page 8 and 9: viii CONTENTS CHAPTER SIX Letters t
Page 10 and 11: x ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS To Spyros Orfano
Page 13: ABOUT THE EDITOR Bonnie Zindel, LCS
Page 16 and 17: xvi INTRODUCTION mother’s mother.
Page 18: xviii INTRODUCTION response was ove
Page 21 and 22: CHAPTER ONE Dreams as poetry You se
Page 23: DREAMS AS POETRY 3 LOU REED IS DEAD
Page 27 and 28: DREAMS AS POETRY 7 THE MERMAID’S
Page 29 and 30: DREAMS AS POETRY 9 The judge was th
Page 31: DREAMS AS POETRY 11 THE LOST SHOES

0000000000000

You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles

Delete template?

Save as template?