Oh, the weather....:-(

Il pleure dans mon coeur

Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville ;
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénètre mon coeur ?

Ô bruit doux de la pluie
Par terre et sur les toits !
Pour un coeur qui s'ennuie,
Ô le chant de la pluie !

Il pleure sans raison
Dans ce coeur qui s'écoeure.
Quoi ! nulle trahison ?...
Ce deuil est sans raison.

C'est bien la pire peine
De ne savoir pourquoi
Sans amour et sans haine
Mon coeur a tant de peine !

English weather in Wisconsin

Well, while working on my next paper, I'm watching the rain. It reminds me so much of England. Strong sheets of water coming down from grey skies. Yuk! Somehow I do not find it depressing the way I used to when I lived in England. Maybe because I know that the clouds will break and the sun will come out. I can live with this kind of certitude.

I'm doing a practical project for my ED209 (an inspiring name). Or should I call it Developmental Psychology? Paper due on Thursday, so I'll get back to work and save my Bacovian musings for later.

Oh, here is the poem this rain reminds me of:

"Lacustine
So many nights I've heard the rain,
Have heard matter weeping ...
I am alone, my mind is drawn
Towards lacustrine dwellings.

As though I slept on wet boards,
A wave will slap me in the back -
I start from sleep, and it seems
I haven't drawn the bridge from the bank.
A void of history extends,
I find myself in the same times ...
And sense how through so much rain
The heavy timber stilts are tumbling.

http://www.aboutromania.com/bacovia4.html

George Bacovia (1881-1957)
Lacustra
De-atatea nopti plouand,
Aud materia plangand ...
Sant singur, si ma duce-un gand
Spre locuintele lacustre.
Si parca dorm pe scanduri ude,
In spate ma izbeste-un val -
Tresar din somn, si mi se pare
Ca n-am tras podul de la mal.

Un gol istoric se intinde,
Pe-aceleasi vremuri ma gandesc ...
Si simt cum de atata ploaie
Pilotii grei se prabusesc.
De-atatea noprti aud plouand,
Tot tresarind, tot asteptand ...
Sant singur, si ma duce-un gand
Spre locuintele lacustre ..."

I used to know all his poems by heart: