I love all films that start with rain:
rain, braiding a windowpane
or darkening a hung-out dress
or streaming down her upturned face;
one big thundering downpour
right through the empty script and score
before the act, before the blame,
before the lens pulls through the frame
to where the woman sits alone
beside a silent telephone
or the dress lies ruined on the grass
or the girl walks off the overpass,
and all things flow out from that source
along their fatal watercourse.
However bad or overlong
such a film can do no wrong,
so when his native twang shows through
or when the boom dips into view
or when her speech starts to betray
its adaptation from the play,
I think to when we opened cold
on a starlit gutter, running gold
with the neon drugstore sign
and I'd read into its blazing line:
forget the ink, the milk, the blood—
all was washed clean with the flood
we rose up from the falling waters
the fallen rain's own sons and daughters
and none of this, none of this matters.
So evocative although it would help if the audio version could read “dips“ instead of “d.i.p.s“
No, I believe it does matter and this is a good poem, well done Don Paterson
The rain is natures surgery. Thanks for the entrapping narrative Paterson.
poem of rain and love for the rain; rain is the thrilling thing of the heart; nice to read the poem
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A well crafted composition....10+++ Please read my new poem ONLY NICE POEM. Thanks.
forget the ink, the milk, the blood— all was washed clean with the flood we rose up from the falling waters the fallen rain's own sons and daughters and none of this, none of this matters. you shall not be pessimistic and fatalistic. rain and its wonders. it clears out everything. tony
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Film starting with rain carries natural essence and wonderful perception is expressed in this brilliantly penned poem...10