I Wonder if Rain has Different Names Like Clouds Have Different Names
Lingering in the Poetry of Not Knowing
Oh, it is finally raining here in Pennsylvania, first a little rain, soft and light, on and off, and as the week goes on, the rain goes on, more and more until the thirsty plants are too heavy for their water deprived selves, and they fall.
Inside my messy, messy studio I do jumping jacks to wake up. I do squats. I do push ups. The rain falls down all around me in my many-windowed house, and I wonder if rain has different names like clouds have different names and I remember what it was like to not google answers this morning, and to sit in the poetry of unknowing for a while.
Today is Thursday and I have been struggling with my daily poems because I have too many projects to keep track of any projects. But my dumb poem from last week has grown wings and now I am scanning in so many sketchbooks from these past few years and compiling pages of left-handed drawings, and poem drawings, and plant drawings into one thing that I would love to call a book someday. Perhaps I will print and bind them myself. What do you think? Wait, don’t tell me. One way or another I need this momentum to persist, so for now, I shall pretend I am writing to myself though when I write to myself anymore, it isn’t with this type of fervor.
Hello, from Pennsylvania, this wet, wet morning from this messy, messy studio.
One of the unspoken rules for myself, for this Poetry Pairing, is to not write to friends and say, this, should I be embarrassed about this? I just share. This is why I usually use an old poem and a short poem. But this morning I wrote this long thing and I am sharing it. I have to much to do today to linger on this. But you can tell me if I should take it down or leave it up — now that I’ve gone this far.
Lingering in the Poetry of Not Knowing
The smell of gasoline this morning has
Transported me to Western Pennsylvania,
Where once a year we’d visit for Christmas.
It always smelled like gasoline and something in the
Basement that was maybe water sitting —
Maybe this is why I am transported.
It is raining, raining still, raining all week
The wet earth, unfamiliar, my still confused
Sense of smell making false connections —
What all am I capable of making up?
I saw an ice cream maker from the 1970s
In an antique shop on my way home from Milkwood
So was transported to Western Pennsylvania
A few days ago to the laundry room in the not-so-old-house
On the highway — Is this why, the gasoline?
The rain is soft and steady,
What is this kind of rain called? I wonder if
Rain has different names like clouds have
Different names. For now, I won’t know.
I remember when the world was unknowable and
One could linger in the poetry of this not knowing
I hear voices from Western Pennsylvania.
Mostly mumbling Uncle Chuck, Grandma now in Ohio,
And the laughter of my cousins whom I longed to visit —
Maybe this, instead of not seeing. Maybe hearing
Because of Aphantasia? I don’t know the
Name for hearing voices that isn’t schizophrenia
There is something lonely about this time of year
Lonely for me and for those I am closest to —
Rain clouds are gathering in our lonely heads. There is
An awkwardness that surrounds, maybe it is
Humanness, maybe this is why small talk and
Platitudes, and cliche, for otherwise, there is pain in the
Spaces that are left wide open.
It is pouring now in a soft, small drop way.
My studio is ever more explosive, my thoughts, too.
This sadness and melancholy this fall, are rivering in.
26 September 2024 | Day
Magnificent! Leave it up!!
This rain is something different for sure. I am calm yet defiant. I’m not looking for trouble, but yet I’m in no mood to put up with any nonsense.
Water above, water below, water within. Water is the antenna for emotions to be experienced.
Nice. Thanks for the poem-words & images. I’m feeling better now.