“Dream of Knives” is an account of a man’s dream about his gift to his son, a knife. “A Good Cry” presents the sentiments of a 55-year-old man about still being alive but alone. Both securing slots in anthologies, the poems were written by multi-awarded poet Alfred Yuson. Who is Alfred Yuson? What are the poems all about and how are the messages conveyed? These are the questions this paper aims to answer.
Alfred Yuson, born in 1947, is a distinguished poet and writer of prose. He has authored twenty-two books including novels, poetry collections, short stories, children’s stories and essays. Some of his works are Sea Serpent, 1980; Trading in Mermaids,1993; Mothers Like Elephants, 2000; Hairtrigger Loves: 50 Poems on Woman,2002; and Love’s A Vice, 2004.[1] His other works are anthologized in the Likhaan Book of Poetry and Fiction and the Carlos Palanca Memorial Foundation’s Winning Works.
His heraldic prowess in writing gained him awards in the country and abroad. The city of Manila awarded him the Stalwart of Art and Culture Award in 2003; and he earned a spot at the Carlos Palanca Hall of Fame. Overseas, his prowess was applauded by the royals of Thailand through the South East Asian Writers Award; Italy also gave him a RockFeller grant for residency in 2003.[2]
Yuson is a founding member of the Philippine Literary Arts Council (PlAC), the Manila Critics’ Circle, the Creative Writing Foundation (CWF). At present, he is Chair of the Writers’ Union of the Philippines (UMPIL). He also serves as Philippine editor of MANOA: A Pacific Journal for International Writing, published by the University of Hawaii.
Aside from literature, his career also involves films. He was given the Catholic Mass Media Award for a feature-length screen play. He is also a current board member of MTRCB.[3]
The poem recounts the soliloquy of man after he dreamt that he bought his son a knife. It is divided into two parts: first, the fantasy (stanza one and two) then the reality (stanza three). The first stanza describes the knife’s features:
Last night I dreamt of a knife
I had bought for my son. Of rare design.
It went cheaply for its worth—short dagger
with fancily rounded pommel, and a wooden sheath
which miraculously revealed other miniature blades.
It can be inferred that the knife was a Swiss knife—or an army knife perhaps—because it had other miniature blades, maybe a small screw driver and a bottle opener were among the other blades. It can also be said that the man was in luck: the knife of rare design was sold cheaper than what it is worth.
Also, he imagined his son when the boy would receive the knife. The speaker imagined his son’s looks and his actions—of awe and wonder—as the gift, a knife, is presented to him:
Oh how pleased he would be upon my return
from this journey, I thought. What rapture
will surely adorn his ten-year princeling’s face
when he draws the gift the first time. What quivering
pleasure will most certainly be unleashed.
The speaker feels joy in imagining his son’s looks when the youngster sees the gift. The detailed description of how the son would look shows that the father feels fulfilment when the child is happy. He is proud that he would bring home a gift which his son will gladly have. Pleasure will not only be his son’s, but his too.
The fantasy, though, ends as he wakes. He realises that the knife and his trip to find it were only a dream. He is faced with a painful reality:
When I woke, there was no return, no journey,
no gift and no son beside me. Where do I search
for this knife then, and when do I begin to draw
happiness from reality, and why do I bleed so
from such sharp points of dreams?
He talks to himself, asking where he should find the knife he dreamt about. It hurts him that the beautiful knife he intended to give to his son is only fictional. What pains the speaker most is the truth that he has no son at all. Thus is said because of the line, “why do I bleed so from such sharp points of dreams.” He cannot get over the fact that he has no son. Also, he grieves that the fulfilment he felt as a father only existed in his dream. He asks himself again when he would learn to accept and live with the reality that he has no son.
The title “Dream of Knives” refers to the subject of the speaker’s dream. But it can also be read as a hurting dream, because it pierced him so when he woke. The fiction that his mind conjured turned into a knife and hurt when he realised that what he saw was unreal.
The poem presents the sentiments of a 55-year-old man as he complains about having a long life. In his term, he suffers from longevity. He is wondering why he hasn’t died instead of living a life alone. He finds his only source of consolation—whiskey—ineffective even:
Not an eye was dry
when I told them my story.
How at 55 I suffered
from longevity.
Only whiskey makes me well.
Yet nights I drink I cry.
People would naturally be thankful that they have lived past the predicted life span—60 or 70—and call their extra years a bonus and a blessing. This man, however, is the opposite. He wished his life to conclude. When he narrated his story, his listeners shed tears, perhaps because they pity him for living alone or because of his view that he should be dead, considering his age.
The poem repeats the element of time, which means that the speaker is reminiscing:
Boyhood seems so long ago,
apparently of yore, another planet.
Tired of serial arguments
with this world; wired; flamed.
Gods are gone, loves alone.
No real friends but the kids.
More than half of what
scares me shitless lies beyond.
The photo albums remain
undone, I scratch my head
half the time.
He recalls the good old days of his childhood, and that time seems like it is a very far place; in his words, another planet. He also laments that he “has no real friends but the kids.” He longs for friends that are of his age, ones that he can relate to and talk to. He feels alone because he has only his kids. He thinks that his children are being nice only because he is their father. The photo albums being undone show that the memories of the past are just plain memories, recollections that are not treasured. His fears of the future are also revealed. He doesn’t know what lies for him tomorrow; he is scared of the unknown.
He also grows tired of arguments, the problems that he encounters every day. Further, he is weary of disagreements raised by people, possibly because of his words that he shouldn’t be living any longer.
In his monotonous life, he desperately seeks for a reason to laugh:
Half the time
I search for a joke. Only
the clock hangs there, very
funny. Its hands move but
imperceptibly. Wish my heart
and mind were at 10:10.
He looks around him for anything that might bring about laughter, but his search is in vain. He notices the clock’s hands, slowly moving, almost unnoticed. He also observes the time, 10:10, and wishes that his heart and mind were like that too. When the clock is at 10:10, angle formed by the hands make an equilateral triangle, with 12 as the centre. 11 and 1 make it symmetrical because one number is on the left and right side of 12. By this, the speaker meant that he wanted a balanced heart and mind.
The title “A Good Cry” is derived from the expression “a good laugh.” It is a play of words. Cry is used instead of laugh, because, as mentioned in the first line of the poem, no eye was dry when the speaker told his story.
Conclusion
Alfred Yuson is a gifted poet who has received laurels for his talent, both in creative writing and screen play writing. His poems “Dream of Knives” and “A Good Cry” excellently show the pain that a person feels during solitude. Employing effective word play and excellent imagery, Yuson is able to make the reader put himself in the shoes of the speakers. Making them have a good cry over a dream of knives.
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