William Henry Lewis Extra Credit

If there is one thing I strive for in my creative writing, it is the kind of lyricism exhibited in William Henry Lewis’ prose. “Sounds making themselves on dark pages” exactly describes my impression of his work. I really just don’t have the words to sufficiently explain how much I enjoyed hearing him read. I was particularly interested by his admission that he doesn’t remember his dreams. I guess that I’ve always just taken it for granted that I’ll be able to wake up in the morning and remember most of my dreams from the last night. For someone who doesn’t remember his dreams, he manipulates time, space and somnolent probability exceedingly well—at least in my experience. He captured the fluidity of dreams accurately, especially how you can start in one place and find yourself in another. Of course, maybe I just don’t remember the “traveling” parts of my dreams, but it always seems as though I jump from one place to another. His writing reminds me a lot of e.e. cummings, whose work I adore. It doesn’t all make sense, but it certainly does make an impression. His words are unfamiliar, thrown together in novel combinations—like jazz—washing past. He has a talent for making the vernacular align to his cause, not unlike Jason Robert Brown’s music. Finally, the whole experience was topped off by his wonderful, musical voice. It made me want to start hitting the writing harder.