snowfoxed:

Guillaume Apollinaire, ‘Il Pleut’, in Calligrammes: poems of war and peace 1913-1916 (1918)

It’s raining

it’s raining women’s voices as if they had died even in memory

and it’s raining you may as well marvellous encounters of my life O little drops

those rearing clouds begin to neigh a whole universe of auricular cities

listen if it rains while regret and disdain weep to an ancient music

listen to the bonds fall off which hold you above and below

[‘translation’ from: Edward Hirsch, how to read a poem: and fall in love with poetry (2000)]