This poem is taken from PN Review 215, Volume 40 Number 3, January - February 2014.
The Rain Among the Pines: After D'Annunzio
for Nicolò Crisafi
Be still. On the skirt
Of the woods, your human
Words are unheard,
But I hear the new and
Stranger words
Raindrops tell,
And the leaves say,
Far off; - Be still.
The rain falls
From scattery wisps
Of cloud. It rains
On the tamarisks,
Their sun-burnt brine;
It rains on the pines,
Their ragged spines
Rasping; it is raining
...
Be still. On the skirt
Of the woods, your human
Words are unheard,
But I hear the new and
Stranger words
Raindrops tell,
And the leaves say,
Far off; - Be still.
The rain falls
From scattery wisps
Of cloud. It rains
On the tamarisks,
Their sun-burnt brine;
It rains on the pines,
Their ragged spines
Rasping; it is raining
...
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