The Poetry Corner: Dreamwood by Adrienne Rich

The Dreamwood poster in my new space.

It’s lunchtime and my mind swirls with ideas, thoughts, feelings, memories. At the center of the swirls today is the poem “Dreamwood” by Adrienne Rich. That and the power of words.

First, the poem. I’ve been in a funk lately, feeling without direction.  I don’t like the phrase, “I am unhappy at work.” For one, the phrase, to me, implies that all the responsibility lies with work. It doesn’t. I have to shoulder my share of the responsibility as well. Two, I’m not sure that “happy” is the right word. Perhaps I am unfulfilled, unchallenged, unsatisfied. And, I feel unvalued or maybe just undervalued. Mostly, I believe that it is no longer a good fit for me. I have tried to create changes, request assistance, and worked to make it fit. Most recently, I moved my workspace from a nicely decorated, high-traffic reception area with all the amenities to a room that was used as a catchall.  It is a bare bones room, but I pushed cabinets around, cleaned out some of the junk, and put in some lamps to get rid of the interrogation-style lighting .  I now sit at an old desk with squeaking drawers and missing handles, staring at the back of two metals cabinets.  Amidst the papers and piles I sorted through, I found a poster of Rich’s poem, “Dreamwood,” and decided to tape it to the back of one of the cabinets to cover a bad spot.

So, I have been sitting here the past few days, enjoying my ancient desk and the hiccupping hum of the refrigerator.  It feels better. It is a space of my own. And, when I look up, I can see my Dreamwood poster.  Her words seem to seep down from the back of the cabinet onto and into the old wooden desk.  And, I begin to see the outlines of a map, feel my internal compass start to break free of rusted expectations to swing gently in new directions.

The power of words. Even in the midst of directionless doldrums, my mind listens to words, ponders

Nature's map on a piece of wood.

communication and rhetoric.  Since the murder of Dr. Tiller, the power of words and rhetoric has circled my thoughts.  The rhetoric gets ratcheted up and amplified by the media. And, I worry what will happen next. I think about my work situation and how certain words have played a role in my feelings.

But then, I remember the positive power of words as well. I think about how two people I respect encouraged me to apply for a position in their division, a position I wasn’t even sure I was qualified for. Their words empowered me, engaged me, emboldened me. The position wasn’t the right fit, but their words helped clear away some of the cobwebs of doubt that had slowly accumulated. I think about the words in emails from my publisher/editor. She has sent me several potential job leads and writing gigs, encouraging me to apply. Each time, her words buoy me up from the depths of my drifting discontent. And, this morning, the words of woman I have never met except across the reaches of the Ethernet sent out a lifeline. All of these words slowly sketching in details on my map so that I begin to see paths of possibility.

Words have power.

Dreamwood
by Adrienne Rich

In the old, scratched, cheap wood of the typing stand
there is a landscape, veined, which only a child can see
or the child’s older self, a poet,
a woman dreaming when she should be typing
the last report of the day.    If this were a map,
she thinks, a map laid down to memorize
because she might be walking it, it shows
ridge upon ridge fading into hazed desert
here and there a sign of aquifers
and one possible watering-hole.     If this were a map
it would be the map of the last age of her life,
not a map of choices but a map of variations
on the one great choice.     It would be the map by which
she could see the end of touristic choices,
of distances blued and purpled by romance,
by which she would recognize that poetry
isn’t revolution but a way of knowing
why it must come.     If this cheap, mass-produced
wooden stand from the Brooklyn Union Gas Co.,
mass-produced but durable, being here now,
is what it is yet a dream-map
so obdurate, so plain,
she thinks, the material and the dream can join
and that is the poem and that is the late report.

© 1987 by Adrienne Rich
Time’s Power, 1989, W.W. Norton & Co.