I went to Egypt to escape
the Indian, but the Indian struck
out of his cloud and from his sky.
This was no worm bred in the moon,
wriggling far down the phantom air,
and on a comfortable sofa dreamed.
The Indian struck and disappeared.
I knew my enemy was near - I,
drowsing in summer's sleepiest horn
Response:
The Cuban Doctor by Wallace Stevens is a strange poem to me.
I know that some poems will utilize the idea of mystery and intrique as a way
of making the poem have more meaning. However, I never really like those poems,
because they tend to leave the audience out of the picture—with this one, I
feel the same way. I understand that its simplicity is nice, and that the words
are carefully chosen. But I just don’t understand what this poem is talking
about—it sounds like a dream to me. If anything, I did enjoy the second stanza,
and the visual—I just wish it had been stronger.
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