Monday, October 18, 2010

rainy afternoon

The Rain :: J.L. Borges

The afternoon grows light because at last

Abruptly a minutely shredded rain
Is falling, or it fell. For once again
Rain is something happening in the past.

Whoever hears it fall has brought to mind

Time when by a sudden lucky chance
A flower called “rose” was open to his glance
And the curious color of the colored kind.

This rain that blinds the windows with its mists

Will gladden in suburbs no more to be found
The black grapes on a vine there overhead

In a certain patio that no longer exists.

And the drenched afternoon brings back the sound
How longed for, of my father’s voice, not dead.

[From Dreamtigers, by Jorge Luis Borges, translated by Harold Morland]

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