Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Today's poem - My Father Paints the Summer by Richard Wilbur


My Father Paints the Summer
by Richard Wilbur

A smoky rain riddles the ocean plains,
Rings on the beaches' stones, stomps in the swales,
Batters the panes
Of the shore hotel, and the hoped-for summer chills and fails.
The summer people sigh,
"Is this July?"

They talk by the lobby fire but no one hears
For the thrum of rain. In the dim and sounding halls,
Din at the ears,
Dark at the eyes well in the head, and the ping-pong balls
Scatter their hollow knocks
Like crazy clocks.

But up in his room by artificial light
My father paints the summer, and his brush
Tricks into sight
The prosperous sleep, the girdling stir and clear steep hush
Of a summer never seen,
A granted green.

Summer, luxuriant Sahara, the orchard spray
Gales in the Eden trees, the knight again
Can cast away
His burning mail, Rome is at Anzio: but the rain
For the ping-pong's optative bop
Will never stop.

Caught Summer is always an imagined time.
Time gave it, yes, but time out of any mind.
There must be prime
In the heart to beget that season, to reach past rain and find
Riding the palest days
Its perfect blaze.

3 comments:

  1. Oh, what I would give for a chilly, rainy day! This poem was so refreshing as I hide in my house, dreading the necessity of leaving via my 100+ degree garage and out into the hot, humid day here in Kansas. We have been spoiled with a relatively mild summer so far, but this week the 100 degree days have landed with both feet and I am often left breathless from the searing heat! Here's to a rainy, New England day. A girl can dream. :) Stacey

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  2. Oh, phooey, my post didn't go through. Just wanted to say gorgeous poem - and now I want to know his work. I get such good "explores" from your blog, Nan!

    Thanks for the blogging tips - will try when more alert - which is obviously not tonight :)

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  3. Stacey, this morning (Thurs) it is 68º, cloudy, and rainy again. And that's the forecast for days and days. I'm not complaining - I'd rather this than hot, hot, hot. Hope your temps go down soon.
    Susan, it did go through. I have comment moderation, and saw them both. I chose this one because I loved your adjective for the poem, 'gorgeous.' :<)

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Now that I am a grandmother, it seems that I am often late in replying to your most-appreciated comments. But I read them as soon as they come in, and I will write as soon as I can. Please do come back and check. I love these blogging conversations.
Also, you may comment on any post, no matter how old, and I will see it.