The gentle rain, as gentle notes, inscribe:
A mourning song for images withdrawn;
A pleasing elegy to moments gone;
Or passing fancies, never real. Describe
The rain, and gentle airs will drift to mind:
The dreaming sounds of feeling; river songs,
A never ending symphony, in throngs
Of sound, imbibing, then, of rivers winding
Endlessly about the morning light;
Entwining dewy havens of the heart;
And mountains of a mighty spirit’s height,
Transfixing grateful captives of its art.
How beautiful the rain and music are,
That take us into paradise so far.
- To my friend Jena:
So that you may remember
How I love the rain.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
How very lyrical.
I am not quite sure why, but this one… I find a bit embarrassing….
writing a sonnet is really tough, you do it so easily! i can not dare to write more than one a month.
well… Sometimes it really is easy, although more often it is not. When it is easy, it can take me between 1 and 2 hours until I’m 98% satisfied, and when its difficult, it can take 8 or more. For instance this one took quite a long time because of research and several very difficult extra constraints on the form as the first letters of each line (but only the lines that have more than 9 syllables (line 4 has has an extra beat that carries over to line 5), therefore only 13, spell something. Then, there were mythology and the names in medieval or Andalusian times, for certain provinces and regions–among other things–about 12 – 14 hours, if I remember correctly. I didn’t finish it in one day; but I always try to write ahead so that I can worry over a difficult one at my leisure.
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Reblogged this on Graffiti-uri pe pereţii unei gări.
Thank you, Sir.
I want to curl up in this one – to listen to the rain – to feel and smell it. This is how I feel on those nights in the summer when I cannot sleep and I am sitting outside on my back steps. A gentle rain begins and I sit there and allow it to happen around and on me – as if I were a rock at Ryoan-ji – peaceful and one with the rain. Thank you for these words.
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I feel very fortunate to receive such considered and thoughtful comments. Rain is the primary reason we live in the pacific north-west. The rain is frequent here, and quite lovely; however not half so fascinating and lovely as the desert rain of my youth. Though infrequent, except in the monsoon season (which I so love) the rain there is magical. And during that season, for a short while, perhaps a month, it will rain almost every day.
And it is warm then
In summer when the rain falls
Like blossoms in spring
Or like a torrent
It paralyses the Earth
Force from which one hides
The pavement shimmers
In the late afternoon sun
Blazing through still air
One fat drop spatters
Doors all down the street open
They’re greeting the rain
Arms held wide open
Heads thrown back in joyous thrall
To feel the cool rain
Tonight we will bring
Blankets to the porch. To sit
And watch the lightening
Through the long night in
The rare summer cool, we will
Watch the first storm rage
There will be more storms
Monsoon season has started
A cocoon of rain
This gave me shivers round about the fourth tercet.
Why, thank you, Sir. I am honored!
Would you like to come to my flat to sing the blues?
I’d like to sit through a monsoon storm with you while listening to Bill Evans and Beegie Adair! Stardust and all the good slow dancing songs.
I enjoy coming home and hearing the classic jazz playing as I drive up.
Lovely words…I don’t like the rain, but your poem brought me close it : )
I realise the rain can be difficult for some. Even I have mixed emotions about it. Or, I suppose I should so state: mixed metaphors; for I have indeed used the rain as a metaphor for darkness or sadness, as have many writers.
But this is a very kind compliment from one who admits to such sentiments about the rain. I am most humbled by your words.