From Anais Nin: I don’t want worship. I want understanding. And from Clarice Lispector: I don’t want beauty, I want identity. Such things tend to be synonymous, I suppose, in a good way, I think. To understand and love someone is to worship them in a kind of way. And what is identity but beauty assigned to oneself, or an other? This is titled On rain, but I think it is just as much On synonyms. More to that point a little later.

“Exegesis”, Leila Chatti

So I don’t actually have a link to this poem and I didn’t feel like typing it up today, but it’s a provocative poem, and I suppose you (and I) shall have to buy her recent collection, called Deluge and what a wonderful word it is. Topical to this, I saw some quotes from Heather Christle’s The Crying Book (which I feel I’ve half-read through instagram already, so perhaps shall not purchase) encouraging people to cry, especially if alone or if one another. Entrez le deluge.

“Provision”, W. S. Merwin

The last line of this poem is one of my favorites. What you do not have you find everywhere. How lovely, and how terrifying at the same time. Also, rain.

“112th Street”, James Longenbach

I liked the last stanza. The way he describes the volcano and whatnot is nice too.

“August”, Alex Dimitrov

So it really is a shame, I don’t have a link for this poem either, but he seems to have a poem for each month that will circulate on instagram around the first or second of each month and many of them are very nice and I shall have to pick up a collection of his at some point. More on rain here too.
In place of actually having this poem, a quote I came across: It is August: the true ending of a year. I’ve grown sick from trying to love who I am. (Carlie Hoffman, “High Bridge Park”). Truly, and indeed. Carrying light is heavy work, darling.

“Matthew 5:4”, Ruben Quesada

I haven’t met this poet before, but wow, ow, power.

“The Way It Is”, Lynn Ungar

We love a poet that posts their poems on their own website. Anyhow, an ode to graduality and change without realizing and how sad but also how wonderful of a premise that is for a life. On filling holes.

Now, some more on rain. An account I follow had a whole post with several slides titled “Rain Poems, Love Poems”, which in my brain, are often synonymous. How rain makes a memory more intimate. It rained for three days straight the week that you left. That I left. That we left. That I tried to leave. Which I guess, came or made its way into this poem I wrote, “Prodigal Lover”. Now, one of my own poems on the subject:

“What’s a bucket?”, Eve Blank and James Bowden

But not just that kind of rain, also morning rain outside our open windows, pattering past the leaves, an invitation to love warmly. Lying on a shag carpet while it rains outside (like Brautigan’s), stuck inside, but stuck inside happily. There’s also this type of rain (“Splash of Rain: a Yankee Candle scent”, James Bowden), this type of rain (“Serenity Prayer”, James Bowden), this type (“Low-fidelity ekphrastic nod to “Lump Sum””, James Bowden), and so on. And the one in the following poem, an important type indeed:

“Cherry communion”, James Bowden

It rains, and I rejoice.

Is it a coincidence that much of my “rain memory” or “rain feelings” so to speak center around Rachel? No–rain, love, synonyms. I rest my case.

“What We Want”, Linda Pastan

This one reminds me of 1) a poem I wrote, “Really”, and 2) a beautiful poem by Jeanie Greensfelder, “What I Want and What I Can Have”. That convergence.

Somehow this felt like it fit in with the theme, and it’s been running through my head often, epsecially with the quality of Dermot’s voice, but this recording of “War is Over” with Dermot Kennedy that really is quite wonderful. Though it prompted me to watch the original youtube video for the song, which, well, depressing and almost sardonic?

To tether back to reality: I’m tired. All of these thoughts, all of this unnatural stuff is to fill a hole. I am ready for colder weather and to be cozy and to kiss someone.