Somewhere Becoming Rain is an occasional reflection on America’s conversation with itself. It is animated in equal parts by a love of language and a respect for the best that rhetoric can be, and a deep distain for the blather, pretense, hypocrisy, and nonsense that has infected our national discourse in the past twenty years. Arrows are fired here toward targets that, in my estimation, merit deflation. Where they land is anyone’s guess, and whether they find or miss their mark is for you to decide. I sincerely hope you’ll let me know.
In that vein, the blog takes its name from the last stanza of The Whitsun Weddings, by Philip Larkin, a poem perennially ranked as the favorite of the British public, and long a favorite of mine. Enjoy the verse and enjoy the blog.
There we were aimed. And as we raced across
Bright knots of rail
Past standing Pullmans, walls of blackened moss
Came close, and it was nearly done, this frail travelling coincidence; and what it held
Stood ready to be loosed with all the power
That being changed can give. We slowed again,
And as the tightened brakes took hold, there swelled
A sense of falling, like an arrow-shower
Sent out of sight, somewhere becoming rain.