Forget the ink, the milk, the blood—all was washed clean with the flood
by chuckofish
Well, as soon as I said the leaves had not changed much, they started turning! We are supposed to have a cold snap this weekend, so I finished cleaning out the Florida room and moved the rest of the plants. Sadly, we did not use it much this year.
Anyway, I was talking to the boy the other day and he reminded me that I left out two very significant scenes in famous rainy movies. I was semi-horrified that I had, indeed, forgotten:
John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara in The Quiet Man (1951)…
and Robert Redford knocking the cover off the ball in The Natural (1984)…
Wonderful. But what else did I forget?
Oh, here’s a poem by Don Paterson about rain in movies!
I love all films that start with rain:
rain, braiding a windowpane
or darkening a hung-out dress
or streaming down her upturned face;
one long thundering downpour
right through the empty script and score
before the act, before the blame,
before the lens pulls through the frame
to where the woman sits alone
beside a silent telephone
or the dress lies ruined on the grass
or the girl walks off the overpass,
and all things flow out from that source
along their fatal watercourse.
However bad or overlong
such a film can do no wrong,
so when his native twang shows through
or when the boom dips into view
or when her speech starts to betray
its adaptation from the play,
forget the ink, the milk, the blood—
all was washed clean with the flood
we rose up from the falling waters
the fallen rain’s own sons and daughters
and none of this, none of this matters.
Smile, look up, repeat.
