Good Men Have Bad Dreams
according to Jewish scripture.
They aren’t signs of ill health
(I assure myself)
but a necessary safety valve.
In these pictures born of repression
is there a lesson to be drawn,
a symmetry to form?
Might the dreams of bad men be good?
Let’s suppose that they could:
forewarned is forearmed
and cure is inferior to prevention;
then by extension, early intervention’s advised.
Imagine Sigmund Freud analysed
Adolf Hitler (when he was littler)
and discovered that the bugger
had a thing for his mother
yet lacked the art of Whistler;
his father was a bastard who battered
young Adolf in particular.
Sigmund couldn’t help but notice
the facile diagnosis of an Oedipal Complex.
The lad was rather self-obsessed
and circumspect concerning sex.
He’d reluctantly confess he weren’t successful
with the gals: two exes topped themselves
and another tried and failed .
All sufficiently disturbing but what Freud
finds most unnerving are the dreams.
Dreams of water –
Adolf floating motionless
on an ocean stretched
to the horizon and beyond;
a sense of lebensraum,
a vast purifying pond
in which his magic wand
launches golden showers
to cleanse and scour us.
A single figure in a liquid mirror;
Freud sees the flicker will glow and grow
into Kristallnacht, into The Holocaust.
What if the final solution
lies here at the source?
Hitler’s on the couch, it’s
now or it’s Auschwitz.
Will Sig pull the trigger?
A simple click, a bullet to the Id;
a Freudian slip we’d all forgive.
Then I wake up.
Copyright © Raymond Miller 2014
Ray Miller is very old and has too many children. He’s opened for John Cooper Clarke, Attila the Stockbroker and his poems have appeared in Prole, Antiphon, Message in a Bottle, even The British Journal of Psychiatry. He coulda been a contender.