Counting Towards Sleep by Nance Van Winckel

Counting Toward Sleep

by Nance Van Winckel

From each corner the grey cranes appear

and, as if wingless, march off like old

soldiers, rifle-beaks bobbing up the walls

high into the blue shadows of sleep.

I count the sadness of their leaving.

Beneath each of us the earth's deep fires

breathe in, burning brighter with every sudden

rift, every little addition of gritty fuel.

And now I sink down upon it all: the fallen birds,

our warm pallet of earth. And soon the stream

lies down through me. Rattling and spewing, it sends

rocks tumbling. Wild lilies break loose, travel.

There is too much everywhere

not to observe.

Far into morning, sheep

on every finger--Dorsetts

and Corriedales--my hand

is a meadow.

It is tough to get to sleep if one's overactive brain goes into overdrive!

This poem is from Nance Van Winchel's first (I believe) book of poetry, called Bad Girl, with Hawk. My copy is signed to me, so I must have bought it at a reading, but I most likely would have bought it cold because of the book's title. I do that with poetry--buy or take out from the library--books with great titles. Sometimes, I am sorely disappointed. Bad Girl, with Hawk was not disappointing.

As someone who does have bouts of insomnia, I understand the speaker here. How creative the poet is, however, to add cranes and so much else to the Counting Sheep trope.

The grey crane wallpaper fills the room, and it is here the speaker first turns her attention. Not yet ready to count sheep, the speaker starts here with this beautiful line: I count the sadness of their leaving. I imagine the speaker then is trying to breathe deeply--a typically-told cure to insomnia. But that just makes her mind wander further, and she imagines fire far down in our planet.

The birds and the earth are then joined by a stream and rocks and lilies, all moving, and none soothing someone into sleep.

The last stanza--so unlike the other 3 in line length and stanza length--begins with an observation both writers and insomniacs can relate to: There is too much everywhere

not to observe. Yes! It is maddening, but yes, even in our own bedrooms there is so much to observe, think about, and mull over. That the poet chooses to focus on the natural world for the speaker's observations is a subtle nod to our human relationship to that world, how vast it is, and how we turn to it for comfort.

The poem ends as hours have ticked by. The speaker is finally counting sheep on her fingers, turning her hands into a meadow. I love this descriptive, somewhat surreal, and apt ending; I love when a poet creates an image that is meaningful both literally and figuratively.

I also love that this poem is a great example of something I say so often I should get it tattooed: there is a poem out there about everything. Finding a poem with a specific topic may not be easy, but I assure you--it is out there.

Nance Van Winckel has written many books since this one was published in 1988, so I have to assume she normally sleeps well. And I wish that for all of us--a good night's sleep is something to be grateful for. But it you ever have trouble sleeping, might I suggest that you read some poetry? It's good for what ails you!