After the Thunderstorm
For D.H. Lawrence
“After the Thunderstorm”
Suitcase was packed in a
damn hurry, the cosmetics
chucked in, a tin of cold
cream spilled in the Dolce
Gabbana bag, the dress
zipper catching on some thread
that was left to dangle, the label
was out on the Zara A line dress
the high heels were put on
by flattening the back of the heels
awkwardly she ran out of the hotel
her flight a concordance to how
the evening had gone from bungled
love making and resistance – the
thought one should never had
done this at all ever bubbled
to the surface and the clash of alcohol
fueled thoughts, the let's sleep
on opposite sides and he going first
at three am, and during all of this
a thunderstorm flashing in the window
catching the two in the light then darkness
like a Balinese puppet show.
For William Faulkner
“After the Thunderstorm”
After the thunderstorm, come
what may, never will it be the same,
it begun with the grumble off somewhere far
then the intervals became closer
it was like the two ends of a school compass
the point and the pencil apart, and then they met
like life had been going around in circles
a dog chasing its tail, and then the rain
decided to tap dance on the roof, the thunder
a sergeant major waking his troop up in the morning
went nuclear, and the lightning which at distance
was like a scratch on the mirror became a shard of glass
somehow it had to mean something, the rain splatter
turned over a card, he saw the Ace of Spades float
away in the passage of water, an omen, or war,
then the commercials were over thankfully
and the Flintstones were finally back on.
For R.S. Thomas
“After the Thunderstorm”
To be caught at the rocks
where the crabs hitherto
had crawled upon, and limpets
stuck fast, the kelp glistened
with the swash of the tide
and the seaweed swished
the ramparts of a retired jetty
that once gave one a view
in the evening of the sun
dipping into the blue purple
horizon like a biscuit dunked
casually into coffee, and then
as you straddle two rocks
to fish, the clouds bulk on
the hills behind to catch
you unawares, the rain begins
to puddle the beach, and you must
run for cover as the lightning
turns you into a fugitive next
to the grits and by the time
it is over and you have caught
your breath, banished is your fear
of death, as the combination
of the wind, the rain, the thunder,
the lightning had started you
into submission before the beauty
and an authority beyond your suffering
and pain, something awesome, before
the word had become trite, and there
at the grits you had the realization
of a continuity which serves us
both well, before the swell of darkness
and ignorance envelopes us,
we are set free.
For John Milton
“After the Thunderstorm”
If, and that conditional
conditions the poem
makes it contrapuntal
in a play and pity
of ambivalence
between the secular
and the religious
so an angel is figurative
emblematic as well as
a person, a fallen one
is like the rotten apple
that is true to its fiction
and to its metaphor
so the thunderstorm
near Fiesole was dark
and satanic, with the loom
of gloom the clouds thread
over the hills and the lightning
struck the heart of the matter
in a physical manner which
Galileo might respect, but
not the faithful Jesuit
and after the press of air
and everything in a fine gloss
one sees an unlikely Paradise
has been fostered from the dust.
For William Shakespeare
“After the Thunderstorm.”
What do you forfeit when
you bet upon the rain and
say it won't?
And then there is a downpour
and more, you are all a sudden
in a state of pure panic
as perhaps the washing is out
you forgot your umbrella
you left the bathroom window
open.
What then after the thunderstorm
when all the common things above
are but conceits for your love?
For Frank O' Hara
“After the Thunderstorm.”
Like after a thunderstorm
would be the easiest simile
one expected
like a Sunday artist painting
of marigolds at an exhibition
you didn't really want to go to
but at the reception after a glass
or two, you mention Cezanne!
Did you really say that?
Of all the still lives to compare
it with, you had to choose his,
and getting back to after
the thunderstorm you realize
if you let it settle down, it's not
such a weak comparison,
for there was the crescendo
that reminded you of Wagner
at his worst, and that was how
the relationship played itself
out, beginning in sunshine,
I hear you moan, “Why must
love always be sunny?” and
you get up to leave in a huff,
but I laugh and laugh as there
is nothing remotely funny
about after a thunderstorm, like?