Just now musing that the more dream-like and fragmented a poem is, the more intellectual it is. Or maybe I need to be more intellectual or analytical or observant to "get" it or to "get" that I don't need to "get" it. (And I still feel like I'm missing half of it.)
I've been reading The Angel of History, by Carolyn Forche. Some heavy lifting, for me anyway. Sifting through the places, the people, the chronology, all the while reveling in the beauty of language and the human tragedy of the imagery.