Classic and Contemporary Poetry
RAIN INTERS MAGGIORE, by ALFRED FRANCIS KREYMBORG Poet's Biography First Line: It rains and then it rains and still it rains Last Line: That wars to finish hatreds have undone! Subject(s): Pain; Rain; Suffering; Misery | ||||||||
It rains and then it rains and still it rains, The village lost in rivers, lakes and fogs; Misery groans and mutters, execrates The flying winds that bring the shrunken earth Another wave of moisture fathoms deep, The necessary moiety for seeds To split their sides with drinking and emerge As corpulent as cabbages or monks. But who dares squeeze his head above the ground, What man, inhabiting a mortal skin And cramped, two-legged habits, has the skill, Bravado and resistance to defy An open window or a door, for clouds To mystify, bewilder, madden, blind With vertical, oblique, criss-crossing rain, Until the head, no longer dodging, break? The mountains have a weary air and glower At clouds that wind effeminate shawls and scarves Of black and gray reiterated, wound About their foreheads, eyes and noses, mouths; As if those stones were women and the world Frail Puritans from London dreading nudes, Unless the thing be masked and hooded safe As ladies of Madrid who shyly veil Their eyes and move behind dark draperies. The people hide in houses, huddled close, And have no talk to talk about who have No topic which they haven't had before -- Each window like the rest, each view a sea; And who can find surprise inside a room Worn stupid, dull, monotonous and chill With feet that know not where they go nor why, That beat a rataplan upon a drum, No matter where you beat it, sounds the same? And who would venture forth in search of themes To twine discussion round, when not a soul Is on the road to tell you how it goes With him, or doesn't go? And yet, suppose You chanced to meet with such a vagabond -- Like some queer hybrid blossom in the dusk -- Would he turn idiotic, lift his chin Out of his neck to tell you miracles? -- To cry, the slopes are dancing, wild with fire; Camellias and mimosas, drunk with storms, Have lit the night with red and white and gold? The rain is steady now, a metronome; No pause or syncopation dams the flood; Conformity is king, the sky a slave To humdrum, two-four tedium, christened God! Go, put the kettle on the stove to boil A pint of all this water from the soil; And turn to China and a pinch of tea To saturate our bleak monotony: Italy's dead and dull, all Europe gray -- Take down that silken copy -- Li Tai Po -- Open his drunken rivers; let them flow, And haul this junk, the Occident away! Yes, light the lamp; let it provide the sun That wars to finish hatreds have undone! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARTHENOPHIL AND PARTHENOPHE: MADRIGAL 14 by BARNABE BARNES SONNETS IN SHADOWS: 1 by ARLO BATES IN PRAISE OF PAIN by HEATHER MCHUGH THE SYMPATIZERS by JOSEPHINE MILES LEEK STREET by LAURE-ANNE BOSSELAAR FESTOONS OF FISHES by ALFRED FRANCIS KREYMBORG PEEWEE by ALFRED FRANCIS KREYMBORG ..... AND WHITE THE WHITE INVOKES by ALFRED FRANCIS KREYMBORG |
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