Overnight Rain
Do you remember sharing the single
bed in my room in Bristol? It was
not so much the sound of raindrops
falling, but rather that of water gurgling
through gutter and pipe that kept
us awake, turning to each other, rest-
lessly for comfort and dreams.
Downstairs, in our little yellow
house, the dogs are quiet. Upstairs,
rain drums its rhythms on our thin
tin roof and I cannot go to sleep.
The grass will be much too wet
to tackle and scrum: tomorrow I’ll
call around and cancel practice.
Funny how this season winds down
to its end. Tomorrow, no practice.
Then two more games, three maybe,
and a portion of my life will fade
into history. How many forty minute
periods can the human mind retain,
with wins and losses all crammed in?
A strange thing, memory. Even now
I can sing the tunes from the kiddy
shows I watched so many years ago:
Bill and Ben, The Woodentops, Andy
Pandy, Muffin, The Magic Roundabout.
Some nights, in my wildest dreams,
Mr. Plod, the Policeman, still comes
into the tv room with shiny handcuffs.
He leads me to my childhood cell,
high beneath the eaves, and I am
condemned to bed with nesting birds
rustling beneath the roof, rats and mice
scratching, half-heard waters whispering
off-beat lullabies: all oddly disturbing.
Comment:
This is one of my favorite poems from the sequence of love poems I wrote for Clare back in the nineties. It recalls the persistence of memory: how all things are linked throughout our lives and how one thought triggers another. The phenomenon of rain is the starting point for a journey back to a time or times that still remain firmly embedded in the writer’s mind. Memory is indeed a strange thing. I am certain that no two people recall the same incident in exactly the same way. How could they when viewpoint and memory create such wonderful and different links?
One thing I will never forget: the rats and mice in the rafters of our bungalow in Gower. My father and grand-father built it in 1928 and my uncle was the caretaker who took loving care of it throughout his life. They did their best to keep the bungalow vermin free. But we closed it down in September and over the winter all manner of things found their way in. Those first spring nights, until the rafters were cleared again, were full of the sounds of nature’s revolution against humankind.
The other thing I remember very vividly was the lack of running water and electricity. Wood stoves, a fireplace in the dining room, an enormous cast-iron kitchen range, wood and coal burning, on which my grandmother cooked and did the baking. Then there were the cows that wandered through the bungalow field. They would be there, all night, nurtured by the bungalow’s warmth. Many’s the night I wandered out to the outdoors bathroom, the out-house, in fear of a meeting a nocturnal cow. One of my worst memories: walking barefoot through a cow-pat, warm and wet, and the moisture rising up soft and squishy between my toes. Those were the days … the stuff of which memories are made …
I love this! It happens often that a sound, a scent, something… will trigger a vivid memory and yet I’m always surprised when one creeps up on me like that! You told me your grand dad played rugby, did you as well?
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The can of worms: third generation rugby player — grandad, dad, and me. I played (not very high level) in Wales, England, France, Spain, Canada, the States … I also coached in Spain and Canada mainly between 1966-1992, with a couple of (disastrous) years added on later. All levels: Junior High, High School, University, Senior Club, Provincial Under 17, Provincial Under 19, Provincial Seniors Atlantic and Eastern Canadians, Jeux du Canada Games, National Juniors … oh dear, the tales I could tell … the tales that are probably told about me …
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No kidding?!? Roger that’s fascinating! I attended my first pro rugby game this year in Galway: Connaught vs a team from Wales (the Welsh won mightily!) and had so much fun!
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Four regional teams in Wales: Ospreys (Swansea), Blues (Cardiff), Dragons (Newport), and Llanelli (Scarlets???). Shuld have been one of them. Ospreys probably.
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It was the Ospreys! I was just about to look it up.
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The town at the time, now the city closest to my birthplace on the Gower.
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As you mention both the magic roundabout and persistence of memory how could I fail to love this. Do you remember Mr Ben, he would go into the shop and change into a costume and go back into time to that period. I loved that show. I can hear right now the theme tune for the magic roundabout. Oh childhood.
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Me too … I cannot shake the memories out of my head … so deeply ingrained. I still watch Bill and Ben on YouTube! “Weed!”
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I love the sequence and verbal illustration of the traveling of the mind through memory…wonderful!
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Thanks, Tanya. It’s been very quiet on here today. One of my favorite poems and most people have ignored it!
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As we are getting close to the holidays, I’m finding my traffic to be sporadic. I loved the poem. Maybe re-post it after the holidays are over…
It is worth a re-read…⛄
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That’s probably the answer. I am finding many things “sporadic” as you say. Not having been on at this time of year before, it was a bit disconcerting. Never mind! We just had a female cardinal land on the snow on the back porch … such beauty leaves an immaculate imprint on the mind.
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We had a male cardinal all puffed up sleeping on a bush right outside the window…Agreed! Have a wonderful day, Roger!😊
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We have a pair nesting close by. All summer they were at the feeder and also into the Fall. Clare has pictures of them both together. I have seen them separately. Glorious against the snow.
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They are. When it gets really cold like this, I am just amazed at their fortitude…
Inspiring.
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