The Man With Night Sweats Poem by Thom Gunn
The Man With Night Sweats
I wake up cold, I who
Prospered through dreams of heat
Wake to their residue,
Sweat, and a clinging sheet.
My flesh was its own shield:
Where it was gashed, it healed.
I grew as I explored
The body I could trust
Even while I adored
The risk that made robust,
A world of wonders in
Each challenge to the skin.
I cannot but be sorry
The given shield was cracked,
My mind reduced to hurry,
My flesh reduced and wrecked.
I have to change the bed,
But catch myself instead
Stopped upright where I am
Hugging my body to me
As if to shield it from
The pains that will go through me,
As if hands were enough
To hold an avalanche off.
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4/26/2024 12:20:43 PM # 1.0.0.1119
This poem is very fine, but remains somewhat oblique and mysterious. It helps to know that the man with the night sweats is suffering from AIDS, and not TB or cancer.