Dunn's Muse
Blind Date with the Muse
Well, not exactly blind; I knew of her.
I was the needy unknown, worried
about appearance, and what, if anything,
she'd see beneath it. And, desperate
as this sounds, it was I who fixed myself up-
I didn't mind being middleman
to the man I longed to be. "Yes", she agreed,
then, "I hope you're not the jealous type."
I lied, and she named the time and place,
told me there'd be others, ever and always.
The door was open. And there we all were--
men and women, empty handed
and dressed down-- each of us hoping
to please by voice, by tone. In her big chair
she welcomed or frowned, and one man
she gently touched, as if to say, "Don't
despair, it will be delivered soon."
Even as I hated him, I took heart.
She was the plainest woman I'd ever seen.
I wanted to make her up, but all arrangements
seemed hers-- I found myself unable
to move. "You look lonely," she said,
"a little lost, the kind of man
who writes deathly poems about himself.
Sensitive, too," she added, and laughed.
Thus began the evening the Muse,
that lifelong tease, first spoke to me.
"If you want to be any good
you must visit me every day," she said.
And then, "I'm hardly ever home."
transcribed from docslide.us
When looking through Dunn's "Here and Now" manuscript, we came across a few instances of him writing about women and/or mentioning "The Muse." "Blind Date with the Muse" is perhaps the most obvious example of him playing with the idea of the muse. The poem is not necessarily about a woman in particular, but the overall elusiveness of inspiration. Lois, however, must've served as a muse for other poems of Stephen's, as noted proudly on her shirt.