Summer Storm: a ballad.\r
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Topic: Dana Gioia reads Summer Storm\r
Dana Gioia: Let me recite a ballad that begins at a wedding. Its called Summer Storm.\r
We stood on a rented patio while the party went on inside. You knew the groom from college. I was a friend of the bride. We hugged the brownstone wall behind us to keep our dress clothes dry and watched the sudden summer storm ________ against the sky.The rain was like a waterfall of brilliant ________. Cool and silent as the stars. The storm hid from the night. To my surprise, you took my arm. A gesture you didnt explain. And we spoke in whispers, as if we too might imitate the rain.Then suddenly the storm receded as quickly as it came. The doors behind us opened up. The hostess called your name.I watched you merge into the crowd, aloof and yet alive. We didnt speak another word except to say goodnight.Why does that evenings memory return with this nights storm? A party 20 years ago, its disappointments warm. There are so many might have beens. What ifs that wont stay buried. Other cities. Other jobs. Strangers we might have married.And memory insists on pining for places it never went, as if life might be happier just by being different.\r
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Recorded On: 7/6/07\r
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Topic: Dana Gioia reads Summer Storm\r
Dana Gioia: Let me recite a ballad that begins at a wedding. Its called Summer Storm.\r
We stood on a rented patio while the party went on inside. You knew the groom from college. I was a friend of the bride. We hugged the brownstone wall behind us to keep our dress clothes dry and watched the sudden summer storm ________ against the sky.The rain was like a waterfall of brilliant ________. Cool and silent as the stars. The storm hid from the night. To my surprise, you took my arm. A gesture you didnt explain. And we spoke in whispers, as if we too might imitate the rain.Then suddenly the storm receded as quickly as it came. The doors behind us opened up. The hostess called your name.I watched you merge into the crowd, aloof and yet alive. We didnt speak another word except to say goodnight.Why does that evenings memory return with this nights storm? A party 20 years ago, its disappointments warm. There are so many might have beens. What ifs that wont stay buried. Other cities. Other jobs. Strangers we might have married.And memory insists on pining for places it never went, as if life might be happier just by being different.\r
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Recorded On: 7/6/07