"In my grandfather’s house, la casa de mi abuelito, the roof was made of tin and so the rain made sounds that, depending on the force of the rain, resembled anything from dozen ballerinas tip toeing to a million marbles dropping out of a big bag in the sky. Even as a six-year-old, I liked the rain. I liked it when it rained so hard that the noise absorbed all my thoughts and there was this delicious mixture of fear and safety." ---Francisco X. Stork, in his blog entry, Rain
Many of you know Francisco from his novel, Marcelo in the Real World, which I blogged my devotion to here. And you might say that fear and safety are entwined in the choices Marcelo must make to live in the real world.
But today, I'm featuring Francisco's poetry, which also asks us to think about our continual longing to be open, to be unafraid, in a world that urges us to chose safety above all else. He told me that I could share his words as I wished, but I'm only giving you the beginning of The Song here, because I'd like you to read the rest at his blog. So you'll stay over there awhile and browse through his journal. And listen to his thoughts mixed up with the rain. Waiting in Darkness and The Six Perfections of Writing are good places to begin.
It is not logical to hear such a melody
this late spring
when the rains are still cold.
I had to stop when it first came,
its beckoning unrecognizable
or too familiar.
How can the frozen earth not
to such song?
the rest is here
Poetry Friday is hosted today by Book Aunt.