Sometimes, I talk too much. What I love about poetry is that it instantly shushes me, lulls me into that alert, still, attentive state of mind---the one that I wish I could stay in all day.
Here is a short poem, about listening. See if it lulls you...
Before the Rain
by Lianne Spidel
Minutes before the rain begins
I always waken, listening
to the world hold its breath,
as if a phone had rung once in a far
room or a door had creaked
in the darkness.
Perhaps the genes of some forebear
startle in me, some tribal warrior
keeping watch on a crag beside a loch,
miserable in the cold,
though I think it is a woman's waiting
I have come to know,
a Loyalist hiding in the woods,
Read the rest here.
And here is a poem I wrote, many years ago, while listening to the rain:
My house creaks in the rain,
a porch-skirted grandmother
shifting her lap.
Sing to me, Grandmother.
Comfort me, house.
You are used to
the nattering of raindrops,
used to their prickly breath,
used to cold knees
as they crawl down
your neck to your breast.
Sing to me, Grandmother.
Comfort me, house.
My nipples are cracked
from milk wetness.
My womb shudders
in sharp gusts. I'm rocked
by this baby, this raw-fisted
baby, flooded
by this baby who clings
like rain to the eaves
of my chest.
Grandmother!
House!
-----Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)
Poetry Friday is hosted today by Becky at Becky's Book Reviews.
Sara, I love both of those, but particularly yours. I like it when a poet captures well all the beauty yet all the fatigue of that complicated thing called early motherhood. (Has someone done an anthology of poems about that topic? If not, I wanna.) "My womb shudders in sharp gusts." I know exactly what that feels like.
ReplyDeleteAnd the overriding metaphor in Spidel's poem? Haunting.
What a lovely post -- a perfect pairing of poems. Both had me spellbound. Love this connection: life within the house, baby within the womb, the woman's waiting, water/rain as life-giver.
ReplyDeleteWow. Both poems are about motherhood, in a way, about being a forbearer and "bearing up," as it were, but I like the addition of the house as also bearing up under the prickly breath of the rain and the cold knees and general discomfort - as mothers have to do. Brilliant!
ReplyDeleteWonderful. I had to go back and read yours again to see how you led into the mothering second part with the grandmothering first half in words like:
ReplyDelete"used to
the nattering of raindrops,
used to their prickly breath,
used to cold knees
as they crawl down"
rain as demanding, clinging child?
and then, a mother yourself, you are shocked by
" this raw-fisted
baby, flooded
by this baby who clings
like rain to the eaves
of my chest."
baby as rain?
Wow!
Love it, Sara. Funny, I've been thinking a baby poem through my head too. Beautiful!
ReplyDeleteYour poem made me shudder a little. I totally felt flooded as the mother of a small child.
ReplyDeleteYes, motherhood is earth-shattering and all encompassing.
ReplyDeleteYour poem was both soft and raw - powerful!
Glad you won books at the conference.
I agree with what others have said about the pairing of poems, and how perfectly they bring me to that rapt listening you describe. I LOVE the house as a grandmother in yours!
ReplyDeleteWhy do we listen to rain? It seems such a monotonous sound... till we pay attention.
Wow. Everything everyone else said, and WOW.
ReplyDeleteWhen I read this:
ReplyDeleteMy house creaks in the rain,
a porch-skirted grandmother
shifting her lap.
I was back in my grandmother's neighborhood, where the houses wore such skirts. We would sit in the creaking porch swing, my brother and I, snug in the lap of grandmother's house on a rainy day. Thanks for the memories ... and for writing such evocative words!
Today I posted my earlier comment, sending my readers here so they can read your whole poem:
ReplyDeletehttp://bonniesbooks.blogspot.com/2008/04/porch-skirted-grandmother.html
That's how impressed I am with what you wrote.
Great pairing of poems, Sara. Your poem reminded me of a poem I have waiting to be born about sitting with Maddie at 3 in the morning when she was an infant, and listening to the rain fall outside when it felt like we were the entire world.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing.
Love both of these! So beautiful.
ReplyDelete