The Rain is pissing down...

NIGHT SONG OF THE PERSONAL SHADOW
—Gyorgy Petri

The rain is pissing down,
you scum.
And you, you are asleep
in your nice warm room—
that or stuffing the bird.
Me? Till six in the morning
I rot in the slackening rain.
I must wait for my relief, I've got to wait
till you crawl out of your hole,
get up from beside your old woman.
So the dope can be passed on
as to where you've flown.
You are flying, spreading your wings.
Don't you get into my hands—
I'll pluck you while you're in flight.
This sodding rain
is something I won't forget,
my raincoat swelling
double its normal weight
and the soles of my shoes.
While you
were arsing around
in the warm room.

The time will come
when I feed you to fish in the Danube.

(translated from the Hungarian by Clive Wilmer and George Gomori)

_______________________

The rain is definitely having its way with us, and shadows are in short supply, but many thanks to those who braved the weather to attend the Snake Birthday Bash last night. The Scribes were in fine fettle, and the crowd, revved up on cake, provided a wonderful, supportive audience. Thanks, also, to those who've e-mailed their good wishes. Here's to many more, you wily old reptile...

Tonight, (4/13), take your choice of (1) the intriguing-sounding Liars contest, The Sacramento Storyteller's Guild's "over-18" event of "boastful tales" at the Hart Center, 27th & J Sts., Sac., 7:30 pm. Free admission to listen; $10 to participate. Info: 916-424-0532. OR— (2) Head on down to Luna's Cafe for Poetry Unplugged, featuring Rachel Liebrock: 1414 16th St., Sac., 8 pm. Free; info: 916-441-3931.

Something to plan for: Saturday, April 29, from 12-6 pm, attend the Berkeley Poetry Festival, featuring readers from the Bay Area poetry community: SF Poet Laureate Jack Hirschman, Jack and Adele Foley, Jennifer Stone, Julia Vinograd, Dorothy Jesse Beagle, Louis Cuneo, Lucy L. Day, Tim Donnelly, Randy Fingland, Gail Ford, Haleh Hatami, Dale Jensen, Debra Khattab, Kirk Lumpkin, Maggi H. Meyer, Phillip Nails, Mark Schwartz, Tsahai Unger and Judy Wells. North Berkeley Sr. Center Main Auditorium, 1901 Hearst St. (at Martin Luther King Way), Berkeley. Info: 510-981-5190 or mothershen.com. Free; open mic.

Today is Seamus Heaney's birthday; he'll be 66.

GLANMORE SONNETS: VIII
—Seamus Heaney

Thunderlight on the split logs: big raindrops
At body heat and lush with omen
Spattering dark on the hatchet iron.
This morning when a magpie with jerky steps
Inspected a horse asleep beside the wood
I thought of dew on armour and carrion.
What would I meet, blood-boltered, on the road?
How deep into the woodpile sat the toad?
What welters through this dark hush on the crops?
Do you remember that pension in Les Landes
Where the old one rocked and rocked and rocked
A mongol in her lap, to little songs?
Come to me quick, I am upstairs shaking.
My all of you birchwood in lightning.

_______________________

POSTSCRIPT
—Seamus Heaney

And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other
So that the ocean on one side is wild
With foam and glitter, and inland among stones
The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
By the earthed lightning of a flock of swans,
Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,
Their fully grown headstrong-looking heads
Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.
Useless to think you'll park and capture it
More thoroughly. You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass
As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
And catch the heart off guard and blow it open.

________________________

—Medusa (who is, well, just plain grateful...)

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)