John Ashbery

The Dong with the Luminous Nose

dreamlike

The Dong with the Luminous Nose - meaning Summary

Dreamlike Collage of Images

The poem presents a shifting, dreamlike sequence of scenes and voices that move through night streets, maritime images, and pastoral echoes. It blends fragments—mythic and mundane—so that memory, sleep and storytelling intermingle. The speaker drifts between observation and address, encountering animals, lovers, and comic figures, while time and place remain unstable. Read as a playful, fragmentary meditation on imagination, the poem emphasizes associative leaps over coherent narrative.

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Within a windowed niche of that high hall I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night. Come, Shepherd, and again renew the quest. And birds sit brooding in the snow. Continuous as the stars that shine, When all men were asleep the snow came flying Near where the dirty Thames does flow Through caverns measureless to man, Where thou shalt see the red-gilled fishes leap And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws Where the remote Bermudas ride. Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me: This is the cock that crowed in the morn. Who'll be the parson? Beppo! That beard of yours becomes you not! A gentle answer did the old Man make: Farewell, ungrateful traitor, Bright as a seedsman's packet Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles. Obscurest night involved the sky And brickdust Moll had screamed through half a street: "Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express Every night and alle, The happy highways where I went To the hills of Chankly Bore!" Where are you going to, my pretty maid? These lovers fled away into the storm And it's O dear, what can the matter be? For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple bells they say: Lay your sleeping head, my love, On the wide level of the mountain's head, Thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade the plain, In autumn, on the skirts of Bagley Wood. A ship is floating in the harbour now, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

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