Derek Walcott
Castries / St Lucia
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Dark August

Rating: 3.1
So much rain, so much life like the swollen sky
of this black August. My sister, the sun,
broods in her yellow room and won't come out.

Everything goes to hell; the mountains fume
like a kettle, rivers overrun; still,
she will not rise and turn off the rain.

She is in her room, fondling old things,
my poems, turning her album. Even if thunder falls
like a crash of plates from the sky,
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Fix The Rain 06 August 2019
This is a beautiful poem. It's about loving someone you hold special in your heart. You wish it were possible to repair their broken yesterdays and tomorrows. The sad part is you can not.
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Stupid internet 14 February 2018
There is a mistake in this. Seriously no one else noticed?
1 0 Reply
Steven 20 January 2018
It sounds like an incest in a way and its weirding me out. I wish he hadnt called sun his sister.
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Othuke Isaac Umukoro 11 November 2017
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Rajnish Manga 22 August 2017
Exquisitely beautiful portrayal of nature in the August rains which brings so much deligt in life. Thanks. so that when you emerge, my sister, parting the beads of the rain, with your forehead of flowers and eyes of forgiveness,
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Bernard F. Asuncion 22 August 2017
Such an interesting poem about dark days....
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Subhas Chandra Chakra 22 August 2017
The black rain, the white hills, when once I loved only my happiness and you Beautiful concept of black days.. Thanks for the sharing.
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Edward Kofi Louis 22 August 2017
The dark days! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
1 1 Reply
Anil Kumar Panda 22 August 2017
This is beautiful poetry that flows in a majestic way with the sister- the sun. so that when you emerge, my sister, parting the beads of the rain, with your forehead of flowers and eyes of forgiveness, .. The sun comes out with flowers and forgiveness. Beautiful stanza. Very nice.
1 1 Reply
Lantz Pierre 22 August 2017
Powerfully emotional poem. It suprised me in the end how much I liked it. Personifying nature is usually such a facile trick to create false parallels between the complexity of human thought and emotion and the incomprehensible otherness of nature. But Walcott uses the device here to get at, to coax out, to try and shine a light on a brooding, difficult side of rejection and loss, anticipation and hope. He turns the personification of nature into a projection of his inner feelings with a delicacy that is heart-wrenching. The personification in fact remains a veil to protect him, his vulnerability, from being stated too unequivocally, too bald-faced. It allows the brooding sadness and hope to be expressed from behind a film of reflective, soothing balm or salve. The images are exquisite, palpable, breathing with the life of the man's expectations and perfectly framed in the cold objectivity of nature. Nature that supplies us home and hearth, health and happiness. Or takes it away without a thought of it affects us personally.
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