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Short Rains
Posted: 18 December 2021 Word Count: 63
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We hear it first thwup thwup thwup sand white as washed bone spots and darkens in warning
An unfamiliar wind pulls clouds to cover the sun turns day to night in a blink
With a crack and flash our clinging clothes translucent and icy to touch
Then at once rain stops wind dies and I feel cotton drying on skin renewed.
Comments by other Members
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V`yonne at 11:13 on 19 December 2021
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Oh that was a bit good I found myself sort of living it instead of reading it! It took me back to a thunderstorm at Rhossilli -- a very scary brief storm!
Good work, Jo.
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michwo at 12:52 on 19 December 2021
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Pared down and laconic, experience distilled to bare essentials. You've hit the nail bang on the head here, Jo. I can't fault you and the way you start this poem is something quite special in its way:
sand white
as washed bone
spots and darkens
in warning...
There's a purple passage in Proust about rain that starts and builds like this but your achievement is to describe and observe it economically. I'll quote the passage in English in its entirety as an example of what you've managed to successfully condense into far fewer words:
A little tap at the window, as though some missile had struck it, followed by a plentiful, falling sound, as light as if a shower of aand were being sprinkled from a window overhead. Then the fall spread, took on an order, a rhythm, became liquid, loud, drumming, musical, innumerable, universal. It was the rain...
Well done.
<Added>
P.S. For 'aand' read 'sand'!
<Added>
P.P.S. Actually, now I come to count them to compare, it's not fewer words but your poem - 61 words as opposed to Proust's 55 - certainly gives the impression of being far more packed and explosive than his version is.
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crowspark at 15:15 on 19 December 2021
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Hi Jo. Yes! I remember the experience you describe so well and I feel refreshed reading it.
A very effective poem.
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