Thursday, December 31, 2015

rain , rain, rain

A History of Rain
Marc Hudson
So you arrive in the old country of rain.
The road sign says Mist, Jewell,
Vernonia. Woodsmoke
is rising against the rain
so slowly, you wonder if time
is passing, and did the alders
have leaves this year? Walk on
through a covered bridge and the sun
pours through a thousand knotholes
in lasers of smoking light.
When you emerge it is raining
as it only rains in the first chapter of Genesis,

a rain without ambiguity and guile
a rain with pointed arches and high clerestories
where the aquiline features of saints
are smoothed away like a child’s
in sleep. You discover
your vocation: you will write
the history of rain, you will set down
on usnea and moss the lineage of mist,
the martyrdom of clouds. You will record
the resurrections rain accomplishes,

its infinite extension and seeming absence,
as if it fell to no purpose
but to elicit meditation,
the pause of the scribe before the window,
transparence of a mind
given over to rain
From Afterlight (1983)
(photo from here)
Some images from the poem:
Mist, Jewell, Vernonia. Woodsmoke are in Oregon

 high clerestories
(The nave wall is divided into three stages: the upper stage with windows is the clerestory. It is a high section of wall that contains windows above eye level. The purpose is to admit light, fresh air, or both.)



podso said...

Happy New Year! I think the rain may be over for now.

Heather said...

What a delightful poem on rain. I also love that you provided some explanations on unfamiliar words. Happy New Year!

Bonnie said...

I loved this poem too. Sun is finally out. Planning tomorrow's class.