Work Text:
“Alone at the edge of a universe humming a tune, for merely dreaming we were snow.” “A siren sounds the like the goddess who promises endless apologies of paradise.” “And only she can make it right. So things are different tonight.”
Dream Sweet In Sea Major tells many stories– stories of flight, of change, of movement. But it also sells us a seemingly sweet story of near silence and inadequacy. The singer begins by telling us where he is- how he is. He’s alone, in a sense, at the edge of a universe. Though, he does not seem to be by himself.
He tells us why he’s there. Our singer doesn’t think like we do, at least not like they do- this “other” he is being punished for being so different from. He’s been imagining things, dreaming that maybe they weren’t as important as they all thought they were. That maybe there was something more significant than they were. That maybe, just maybe, they were like snow in free-fall, little and just as wonderful individually as they are together; that maybe they were marvelously insignificant, and that it was okay. He seems to be more aware than whatever brought him here wants him to be, even aware that he might not be on the edge of his universe but some different one. Whoever– whatever pushed him to this edge did not appreciate his abundance of ideas.
We know he isn’t supposed to be here, and we know he doesn’t very well want to be either. It isn’t only the listener who knows the singer is being punished- he knows, too. He says all he ever did was dream. However, he’s in no rush to leave of his own accord. He’s humming, waiting for something or someone. He is scared, though.
He hears a siren. Some noise, an alarm, or a warning maybe. But it sounds like the end. It sounds like his goddess, who knows all his hurt and wants. She who promised him the apologies he so yearned for, who told him that in his finality, there will be more, and this time it will be sweet. He’s singing louder now, no longer serenading the listener, but now wanting to make sure he is heard before he can no longer make sounds we can hear. He’s singing the praises of his goddess. Reminding her of who she is to him and all she can do. Pleading that she stand as firm on her promise as he did on his Devotion. Our singer is declaring that he is welcoming his end, and this is known. When a god offers you paradise, it cannot be enjoyed while you are still living.
He says that only she can make it right. Maybe this goddess he is inching upon, eager to meet, is something other than the God we know. Perhaps she whispered something into his eyes that looked like a chance to leave alive because he suddenly declared that things would soon be different. But different how? What is the nature of our singer’s punishment that he might be humming about it but also searching his pockets for proof of his Devotion in the form of praise? Does he know? Perhaps he does and doesn’t say– sparing us the gruesome details.
There seems to be much that’s escaped his tune. He does not say more about his goddess. We don’t know her name or her story. But we know our singer fears her. He doesn’t deign to say that only you can make it right when he addresses her. He mentions her in no way other than praise. Perhaps that’s story enough. There are more holes in his song, but they aren’t holes for the sake of holes. He doesn’t have time to spare on small and obvious details: where he’s from, what they do there. He tells us he dreamt of a more beautiful and intricate life, and it got him thrown to the edge of a vastness. That alone says more than anything else he could say would.
This is not speculation. Our singer is a poet at heart, and what more do poets love than speaking in code- speaking in devices that only another lover of words might understand? And we do.
Our singer is careful with his words, choosy as all poets are. He does not say that this siren sounds like a goddess; he says it sounds like the goddess. Not a fictive being, but a real one that he is sure exists. He says he merely dreamt– he’s turned his back on his own strict world. His thoughts have gone unappreciated.
He speaks in sibilance, constantly letting us know he is unafraid. The smooth ‘s’ sound that comes with sibilance represents the opposite of alarm.
Acceptance.
He is not horrified at his situation– he’s fully immersed. He knows what he’s done and has no qualms with his maker. He only hopes that his faith in her will see him through. Although the fear of god is within him, the peace of the spirit has him overcome.
He tells us more through the spaces in his words. When he describes this siren, he uses the word “sound” as a zeugma or semantic syllepsis. He doesn’t just mean the siren made a noise; he implies the siren that sounded, sounded like his Devotion. His goddess. That siren that was meant to represent his end only brought her to him to do the opposite.
Our singer has narrowly escaped his demise. His goddess has rewarded him with the removal of paradise and, in its place, the chance of life. Our singer has been freed from the cage of conscientiousness. He is alive to think otherworldly, yet.