The River’s Daughter
By Jane Tawel
April 6, 2020
“Rain Rain Come Again” by Marvelous Kerala is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0
We’ve had some glorious rain these past days – rare here. I think with everyone sheltering in, and perhaps less smog in the sky because of that, the rain has found more room in our skies. I love rain and will miss it dearly, knowing its season is always quite short where I live. This is a rather simplistic but heartfelt attempt, once more, to write an ode to a long-time love of mine – Rain.
I have written several poems about rain and this is the second one that owes much and my deepest thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien’s worldview and specifically his character, Goldberry. I am a pathetic writer and imaginer when compared with the great Tolkien, and I would again and again advise people to read his works over and over again as I have done and will continue to do. But though I may be humbled by comparison, I am eternally grateful for people like Tolkien who have made me, I hope, a much better human being. At a minimum, the works of writers like Tolkien have made me a much more fulfilled and hopeful seeker.
The River’s Daughter
By Jane Tawel
I never hated rainy days.
I always dearly loved them.
There was strange joy, being taken away
From sun and waves and friends.
I found friends old and new in books,
While sheltering-in my bed or nook;
And I, with maybe just a cup,
Of something warm, would stay curled up,
My heart fulfilled its deepest longing,
With dribble drops and pitter-patter song-ing.
And some dear days, umbrella-less,
I’d walk outside, quite fella-less,
But nonetheless, romantic joys
Were mine, regardless of no boys.
I’d lift my face to be caressed
By raindrops, which with great finesse,
Would make my yearning skin quite tingle.
And tears and drops would then co- mingle
In rain’s requited passion, joy, and pain,
That I would find, embracing me, while I embraced my rain.
My days are long now and nights are restless,
And memories more prone to stress-tests.
I live in seeming endless deserts,
And thirst for rain’s a constant consort.
My friends are few and treasured,
But they find different pleasures,
And extrovertly walk in droves,
And find their treasures in the troves,
Of sun and heat and bright blue skies.
But though those things may please my eyes,
I still love best mist, fog and grey;
They brighten up my sojourned days.
In rain I find my source of light,
There are no purer, truer sights,
Of what the world can make and hold,
Of growth, and promise, life and soul.
I walk in rain alone,
Or worship it at home.
I never feel I’m friendless,
When I can fill my senses,
With all the ways to pray and play,
In cheerful, watery, rainy days.
My pulse is quickened by thundering love,
When lightening throbs in temples above;
And though the streams or seas are distant,
My ardor will remain persistent,
For all things water, water, water,
For liquid is my sacred matter.
Ah, when the world has turned aquatic,
The rain holds my life embryotic.
In showery worlds are room after room,
For this child born of Water’s Womb.
And when the rains have finally ceased,
I’ll be a squatter in sun’s peace.
And in my mind, I’ll float away,
Remembering—dreaming of the day,
That Fortune will return to me,
The place I dearest love to be.
For I, the River’s Daughter,
Am only home, when I’m in water.
My Daughter Clarissa and I –circa 2014