{"id":3094,"date":"2020-12-10T09:22:58","date_gmt":"2020-12-10T14:22:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/?p=3094"},"modified":"2020-12-10T09:23:02","modified_gmt":"2020-12-10T14:23:02","slug":"a-poem-for-a-thursday-110","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2020\/12\/10\/a-poem-for-a-thursday-110\/","title":{"rendered":"A Poem for a Thursday #110"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Photo by Jasper Garratt<\/a> on Unsplash<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Eric Ormsby was born in Atlanta, Georgia. He is an essayist, poet, translator, and scholar in the field of Islamic thought. Ormsby is currently Deputy Head of the Department of Academic Research and Publications at the Institute of Ismaili Studies in London. He has published six collections of poetry. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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This was the feeling that the dark rain gave\non school days when the windows of the bus\ndimmed with all our breath and we pressed close\nin jostling slickers, knowing the pleasure of \nbeing a body with other bodies, we children\na flotilla of little ducks, paddling together\non the wet ride to the schoolhouse door.\nOnce there, we peered outside appraisingly, \nbeyond the windows and the balustrades\nto where the rain came down outrageously\nand made the trees and signposts and the light\nat the intersection swoop and toss\nand fizz with the gritty torrents to the curb.\n\nThat steamy, tar-damp smell of morning rain,\nits secret smokiness upon our mouths,\nsurprised us with some sorrow of nostalgia.\nOur past already had such distances!\nAlready in that fragrance we could sense\nthe end of childhood, where rememberance stands.\n\nAnd when thunder pummeled the embrittled clouds--\nconcussive ricochets that made the teacher\nhover with the chalk held in her hand--\nwe saw the lighting lace the school's facade\nwith instantaneous traceries and hairline fires,\nlike a road map glimpsed by flashlight in a car.\n\nRain in Childhood\nEric Ormsby<\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Eric Ormsby was born in Atlanta, Georgia. He is an essayist, poet, translator, and scholar in the field of Islamic thought. Ormsby is currently Deputy Head of the Department of Academic Research and Publications at the Institute of Ismaili Studies in London. He has published six collections of poetry. This was the feeling that the dark rain gave on school days when the windows of the bus dimmed with all our breath and we pressed close in jostling slickers, knowing the pleasure of being a body with other bodies, we children a flotilla of little ducks, paddling together on the wet ride to the schoolhouse door. Once there, we peered outside appraisingly, beyond the windows and the balustrades to where the rain came down outrageously and made the trees and signposts and the light at the intersection swoop and toss and fizz with the gritty torrents to the curb. That steamy, tar-damp smell of morning rain, its secret smokiness upon our mouths, surprised us with some sorrow of nostalgia. Our past already had such distances! Already in that fragrance we could sense the end of childhood, where rememberance stands. And when thunder pummeled the embrittled clouds– concussive ricochets that made the teacher hover with the chalk held in her hand– we saw the lighting lace the school’s facade with instantaneous traceries and hairline fires, like a road map glimpsed by flashlight in a car. Rain in Childhood Eric Ormsby<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3095,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3094","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poem-for-a-thursday"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3094","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3094"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3094\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3098,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3094\/revisions\/3098"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3095"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3094"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3094"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3094"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}