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Carnevale in Putignano, Italy : photo by Bob Marcacci

 


S p r i n g   R a i n   i n   I t a l y


b y   R o b e r t   M a r c a c c i

 

 

 




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it rains and so it does and so
we go out in the rain and march
through puddles and the little city
rivers
swell in gutters

we have to be somewhere

*

walk against wind
blowing across the sidewalk
in this hill town
where everything runs down

*

i want you to know this and so on
paper it goes
fuel for the flows and filibuster
of all that i can muster
the month
march
with its procession
all green and flowerful
the all powerful mood
to brood in gloomy weather
with spring ajar
dude
i am of the air
i scare easily and hope
you cope with it
well
you fell into it
as with time
i want you to know i'm with you
man woman and child
each of the wild pages
of this book
each

*

so what
of this place i may
name
any without you
seems so much better
the places where you aren't
where i am for example
where
you want to be
remembered but in your place
a place so common
we have all been there and almost
never leave it
it's just not here
not where it's at
where you're not but want to go
if only you had some money
you think or some
time off
no wife kids etc.
you could do it
you could come here where
we're not waiting for you
at least
i'm not

*

rain so all of this place
bled down from smudgeless grey
sky as day lightens
with light of some imaginary illuminant
with innumerable tiny explosions
which knock
plod
splash drop
drip spit
sputter
some kind of crazy apart-
mental
tic tic tic tic clock clicking
all the world's a stain
crossed with antennaes
balconies electric lines
of communication scaffolding fiber optics
a staging ground for civilization
for a race
slowly eroding

*

embrocation

following rain and what comes in such wetness
with sun spread gloriously wide in spring and in
this preparation pink with blossoms'
soft-touching
small birds which break
into millions of smaller birds in the wild
blue with buckshot
strafing green fields in flight
flitting
winged
wind-swept

*

ground green with uncut grasses weeds
spotted mostly yellow and flowered red
here and there
bleached rocks peer up
this spread stabbed with black
trunks shafts
feathered with white blossoms
stark against a white horizon
bleeding upwards into blue
so purely sky
still sea for birds and breezes
all that which pleases dreamers
who long for clouds
as only a lazy morning stretches on into afternoon
and only clouds
what might have been
within an imagined
child's eye

*

drips

it rains heavily in great musical drops
plunk
drip
drips drop
splash drip
drop drip drips
puddling upon every hard surface
plonk
drip
patter
plot drops
the great zanjero covers all
drips
plunk
splutter
as the downfall
drips
drip
keeps on dripping
drops
it seems broken stops
starts again
stutters
mutters all day and night
where nothing
drips
stops
drops

*

so common this us
who come and go and grow roots
a little
we who know before long
the song will end and begin
again
send your heart
your seed your summons
your words branch sing
in us in our air and breath
where leaves open and reach sun-filled
space
hang in the race for purchase
on some clouds
a breeze blows us
we touch in the tree

*

absence

when something real is missing or something
we feel afterwards when we try
to put a point on it
we know you left
to give meaning to another place
we will go on in this one and fill
in the empty minutes green
void leaves
below us
trees
something natural
grows
instead
in the air in which there is no hold
only direction and the four winds
blowing thee and thine
in your archaic branch and vine
to reach a new light and selfishly keep
what meant something
once and now means more
in memory

*

days move however swift or slow
another sad collection of dates
we know or don't
when we lift our heads
to another season

*

shaken by the train
as it rolls toward another station
another stone city washing away
in late spring rain
still
half-asleep
strung-up in the electrical wires and rusted
iron tracks
which make the city breathe
people and information
in-between greenbelts

supercity looms
rambling closer while the train clatters

*

the picture soaked deeply green
bruised with rainclouds
now earth under shadow
trees and every depression
puddling flooding up
the world muddies
as rain steadily drips and turns
the streets a-stream
with tiny bubbles
widening circumferences
as water collects
in every exposed area
iron earth merging with water
a dirty orange which mirrors
clouds
and leaves above
here
grass so green and grown high
uncut and thirsting ever more
upward
as all green and flowering
things reach a new moment
in which is known simply
as salvation