streets wet
from last night’s rain
drizzle still
in the air
a cup of bitter coffee
stirs memory
while waiting
for the sun
to return
rain
Saturday morning, Moda: waiting for the rain
thunder sounds
the cat’s ear perk
waiting for the rain
to come
to wash the heat
away
cleansing the world
the road wet
from last night’s rain
a cleansing
of this world
with the tears
of heaven
an Inca song
My mother bore me,
Ah!
Within a raincloud,
Ah!
That I might weep with the rain,
Ah!
That I might whirl with the cloud,
Ah!
translated from the Quechua into French by R. & M. d’Harcourt
translated from the French into English by John Bierhorst
a Papago song: The Wind Blows From The Sea
By the sandy water I breathe in the odor of the sea,
From there the wind comes and blows over the world,
By the sandy water I breathe in the odor of the sea,
From there the clouds come and rain falls over the world.
revised by Frances Densmore from an anonymous translator
morning rain, Maltepe, June 8, 2015
cool rain
washes the streets
of the city
stroll
bareheaded
to market
let it wash
me
In Idleness, Facing Rain by Wei Ying-wu
All dark mystery, I embrace it replete,
alone, night thinning into morning.
In this empty library, I face tall trees,
sparse rain soaking through rustling
leaves. Nesting swallows flutter, wet.
Orchid petals blur across stone steps.
It’s quiet. Memories come, and grief
suddenly caught and buffeted in wind.
translated by David Hinton
Spring Rain by Sowol Kim
Caught in a sudden shower, spring sobs,
while flowers fall everywhere–
even in my heart.
Watch, as the clouds drift high over the budding branches
until dusk descends with nightfall.
The sweet, sad rain falls endlessly
as do my tears on the carpet of flowers.
translated by Jaihiun Kim & Ronald B. Hatch
from Things I Didn’t Know I Loved by Nazim Hikmet
I didn’t know I loved clouds
whether I’m under or up above them
whether they look like giants or shaggy white beasts
moonlight the falsest the most languid the most petit-bourgeois
strikes me
I like it
I didn’t know I liked rain
whether it falls like a fine net or splatters against the glass my
heart leaves me tangled up in a net or trapped inside a drop
and takes off for uncharted countries I didn’t know I loved
rain but why did I suddenly discover all these passions sitting
by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
is it because I lit my sixth cigarette
one alone could kill me
is it because I’m half dead from thinking about someone back in Moscow
her hair straw-blond eyelashes blue
the train plunges on through the pitch-black night
I never knew I liked the night pitch-black
sparks fly from the engine
I didn’t know I loved sparks
I didn’t know I loved so many things and I had to wait until sixty
to find out sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
watching the world disappear as if on a journey of no return
translated by Randy Blasing & Mutlu Konuk
Leonard Durso 