Monday, April 14, 2008

First Thunderstorm

Thunderstorms walk the warm April night. The sheeting rain rushes with the sound of waterfalls or failing winds that never come to rest.

Rumbles far away.


Only to fade to the north.

Tomorrow, the maple blossoms will dwell on the dark thrills in the honey light of day.


The Electric Orchid Hunter said...

Aww, man, there's never any thunder where I live now. When i close my eyes at night, I imagine the sounds of a Highveld thunderstorm and I'm back home. The rain in Africa - now there's something to write poems about! The smell! The sound! Every sense is stimulated... it really is a dark thrill.

SzélsőFa said...

One prays for the future fruit when in a storm in April...

Bernita said...

Those maple blossoms are the sort that smell the sweetest I believe, but the red type are for me the most beautiful.

Sarah Hina said...

I love those near misses, just feeling the echo of all that drama.

And the photo is the budding of a dream that came after. Just beautiful.

Ello said...

That is a beautiful picture!

And yes you have completely captured the april storms for me. Just in such a beautiful and poetic way.

Meghan said...

"Thunderstorms walk the warm April night"

I love that image. It captured my attention and drew me in. Great job!

Geraldine said...

Just terrific Jason! Your 'view' as usual of what can appear to be mundane on the surface and then taking to a whole new level. The photo is so captivating too; I've been gazing at it, drinking in the beauty.

I love rain, thunderstorms, blizzards..."the weather works" (strange eh?) making this even more interesting.

Anonymous said...

EOH, you're making me sad. No thunderstorms where you are? They are so epic, yet personal, at the same time (if that makes any sense). I'd like to experience a storm in Africa.

Szelsofa, a beautiful thought. I hope the Cherry tree I've been growing finally bears fruit.

Bernita, the sight is all the more wonderful for how fleeting it is.

Sarah, so well put. I was writing about near misses without being conscious of what I was doing. I'm suddenly feeling like that would be a mesmerizing motif in a novel.

Ello, as usual, I'm not satisfied with the picture, but thanks for giving me a shake and saying, come on, idiot, it's pretty good. :) This post is based on a storm last Friday night...right before our younger daughter barfed and started a night with gastroenteritis. Oh well, I can remember it better.

Meghan, thank you. :) Those first lines are so important. I like them strong and a little unexpected.

Geraldine, I love when people point out when I've imbued some meaning or interest to an otherwise mundane moment or image! It makes me feel like how I see the world is remotely interesting to other people. :)

The Electric Orchid Hunter said...

There's a gorgeous Afrikaans poem by Eugene Marais called 'Die Dans van die Reën', which describes the start of the rains so wonderfully. I tried looking for an official English translation, but couldn't find any online. So here's my amateurish attempt that could never do the original proper justice. Please forgive me:

– Eugene Marais
Song of the violinist Jan Konterdans. From the Big Desert.

Oh the dance of our Sister!
At first furtively over the hilltop she glances,
and her eyes are shy;
and she laughs softly.
And from afar she beckons with one hand;
her bracelets glisten and her beads glimmer;
softly she calls.
She tells the winds of the dance
and she invites them, for the homestead is wide and the wedding generous.
The big game gallop from the plain,
they condense on the crest of the hill,
with nostrils flaring wide
and they gulp the gusts;
and they stoop, to witness her faint tracks in the sand.
The small creatures deep underground hear the rhythm of her feet,
and they inch closer to sing soflty:
“Our Sister! Our Sister! You've come! You've come!”
And her beads jangle,
and her rings of copper blaze in the departing sun.
On her brow is the fiery plume of the bateleur;
she steps down from the heights;
she casts the ashen hide with outspread arms;
the breath of the wind dissolves.
Oh, the dance of Our Sister!

JaneyV said...

It's always amazing to me how you can create so much atmosphere using so few words. I adore a thunderstorm.
"Tomorrow, the maple blossoms will dwell on the dark thrills in the honey light of day."

I do that too.

Beautiful picture!

Anonymous said...

EOH, thanks so much for sharing that! I can't speak to the original, but your translation evokes of the hugeness of the approaching rain.

Janey, thanks, my friend. Economy of words is something I've learned from blogging. It's a skill I'm grateful to have had the opportunity to work on.