On Of All the Rain, Summer is Most Like a Child
By Brad Aaron Modlin
Welcome to Poets on the Plains, I’m Brad Aaron Modlin.
Of All the Rain, Summer Is Most Like a Child
This I tell my son, as we watch
clouds blue against the horizon.
Syllables crowd his mouth,
glint on downspouts, pool
among grass and purslane—the earth
too full to swallow another drop. We lean
forward to feel the rain coming
down hard on bare arms. Across the road
corn lays atop itself in wind;
all I see are hands holding
and holding and holding; I forget sometimes
how warm his hand in mine.
Look, I say.
The sky statics, then pearls.
Originally appeared in Puerto del Sol
This poem is the perfect combination of clarity and mystery. Like nature itself! Throughout the poem, we almost know what nature and humans will do next, and then we get thrown off.
Starting with the title, “Of All the Rain, Summer Is Most Like a Child.” This fanciful thought, slightly difficult to grasp, seems directed at the reader, and then the first line says, “This I tell my son,” a child himself, who may not quite understand the comparison.
I tell him this, then the syllables crowd his mouth. He’s speaking back—perhaps not yet with words. And his syllables “glint on downspouts.” What? His syllables “pool / among grass”? Yes. His syllables are the rain. The rain is his speech.
The overlap continues: The earth—which of course has no larynx or stomach “can’t swallow another drop.” Nature is like humans, and humans are like nature.
And these humans, choose to put themselves more into nature’s experience. Rather than pulling back under, let’s say a covered porch, they lean forward to feel rain on their arms. And just when we’re thinking about the humans’ arms, the corn, we’re told, is like hands holding, until the speaker grabs the son’s hand. Again—to whom do these body parts belong?
The sky pauses—it quote “statics.” A word to make us think of stillness and of speckly old TV screens. Then the speckles turn into pearls—raindrops.
But listen to these action words! Static and pearl as verbs. For that matter, at the top of the poem, the “clouds blue” could mean they are blue or they turn blue.
Verbs are the electricity of a sentence--I tell me students, “Say it with verbs!”
I first met this poet as my student in University of Nebraska at Kearney’s master’s in creative writing. Since it’s an online program, students are from Nebraska, the plains, or even as far as Japan—so setting often becomes subject matter. Where do you live, and how do people talk because of it? How do people calm down there? What do they see that stops time?
This poet, a transplant to Nebraska, is wowed by the view the plains offer, what corn can mean.
This is why I wanted to share this poem with you. It’s about the fields, who are the people, who are the fields. The rain is like a child; words or syllables are long-awaited raindrops and raindrops are us. The poet’s name is Waterfield, after all.
Here, the view is so expansive nothing can trick us into thinking nature is separate, far away.
Let me read it again.
Of All the Rain, Summer Is Most Like a Child
This I tell my son, as we watch
clouds blue against the horizon.
Syllables crowd his mouth,
glint on downspouts, pool
among grass and purslane—the earth
too full to swallow another drop. We lean
forward to feel the rain coming
down hard on bare arms. Across the road
corn lays atop itself in wind;
all I see are hands holding
and holding and holding; I forget sometimes
how warm his hand in mine.
Look, I say.
The sky statics, then pearls.
Originally appeared in Puerto del Sol
Lila Waterfield is a graduate student at the University of Nebraska at Kearney. Her poems have found a home in Puerto del Sol, The Shore, and Anti-Heroin Chic. She is the recipient of a Touchstone Award in journalism.
Thank you for being with us for Poets on the Plains. I’m Brad Aaron Modlin, representing Kearney NE, in the heart of the country.
POETS ON THE PLAINS HOST
Brad Aaron Modlin has served for eight years as The Reynolds Endowed Chair of Poetry/Associate Professor at University of Nebraska, Kearney, teaching undergrads & in the online grad program. His book Everyone at This Party Has Two Names and his forthcoming No Earth But This are available from Black Lawrence Press. Work has appeared in The Pushcart Prize; Prairie Schooner; Brevity; The Slowdown; The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation; and as the premier episode of Poetry Unbound. Also, orchestral scores, Australian art galleries, Brooklyn public art, & his neighbor’s refrigerator. He has received support from Sewanee, Banff, & the Nebraska Arts Council. He often writes about hope or embarrassment because he believes in human goodness & is very clumsy at the gym.https://www.bradaaronmodlin.com/
FEATURED POET
Lila Waterfield is a graduate student at the University of Nebraska at Kearney. Her poems have found a home in Puerto del Sol, The Shore, and Anti-Heroin Chic. She is the recipient of a Touchstone Award in journalism.
