An Antidote to the St Valentine’s Day massacre (aka Rip-Off)

  An antidote to the St Valentine’s Day massacre(aka Rip-off)

 

The most dreaded day of the year for many dawns today (14th February) where husbands quake, wives sigh and singletons hope. Yeah, right, that day. I am not a fan of St V’s, not in the slightest. It comes not so much of being about as unromantic a soul as possible as the powerful aversion to media manipulation and peer pressure.

The ancient Greeks had a number of different words and concepts for love, quite different from our culture of one-size-fits-all LOVE. St Valentine’s Day focuses on probably the least interesting and most ephemeral of those love concepts, that of eros, or erotic, sexual love, and singles it out for special treatment. When the practise of sending Valentine’s cards began, in Victorian times, cards were actually sent to family members and friends, rather than exclusively to romantic interests. I find it sad that this charming practise has now been overtaken by the narrow definition of love.

Love is a complex muddled thing and is far more than hearts and flowers and chocolates and too often romantic expectations lead to disappointment and disillusionment. Love is a deeper, more exciting and eminently more confusing thing than Hallmark would have us believe.

For your delectation today, I have included four poems about love: one humorous, one serious, one somewhat sentimental and one unfinished fragment that starts the explore the darker side of love. 

 The first is a somewhat tongue-in-cheek look at falling in love. It touches on the pain of unrequited love, but that theme is expanded elsewhere.

Love (2)

Falling in love is much like falling sick:

It wasn’t part of the original plan.

There’s never a right time for it,

But when it happens, there comes

A terrible sense of inevitability,

A point when you can’t put it off

For a single second longer

And you succumb wholeheartedly.

It sometimes sneaks up uninvited

Like a stealthy summer cold.

You kid yourself it’s just pollen

That makes eyes and nose run:

The ache you feel is just overwork,

The heat in your veins merely

A reflection of the searing sun

And the shivers that shake you

Are geese parading over your grave.

But as the symptoms grow

So too does the unwelcome news

That there is nothing you can do

And it must run its true course.

Sometimes you recover, wake

To find the signs have vanished

Much like the glistening morning dew

As the sun warms the new day.

A faint uneasy memory remains

And you bless your luck at escaping,

Getting off so lightly this time.

Other times you toss and turn,

Boil and burn for years on end,

Find no relief, no end, no cure.

You get used to it finally,

Grow to enjoy the constant fever.

You won’t die of this disease,

But at times you might wish to.

Falling in love is much like falling ill,

But it is part of someone’s plan.

It’s timing is never our own,

And what we learn from it

Is both its gift and its curse.

The next poem examines love from another aspect, that of how love is what makes us human and vulnerable. It also touches on the element of divine love, and of sacrifice.

Love (1)

Love wounds us.

Like tribal scars,

Love marks us,

Shows us as new

Initiated beings.

Parallel slashes

Of raised scar tissue

Label us as different.

Love hurts us:

The brief bold cut

Dripping hot blood

Shows us changed,

Reinvented daily.

Only those who share

Our pattern of scarring

Can see and know

The person we have become,

Or see the beauty and power

Of those indelible wounds,

Invisible to those untouched

By Love’s kind blade.

  

The third poem in this cycle tries to examine how love feels, how the different seasons of love mimic the seasons of the year. It’s the poem I feel to be the soppiest, and the closest to the roses and hearts of Valentine’s day.

Love 3

Love is the spring wind

Blowing through the winter reeds,

Melting the edge of ice

And bringing scents of warmer climes.

Love is the electric crackle

That fills the summer air

Before the first thunderstorm

Breaks and rages over us.

Love is the dripping trees

And the fallen leaves of gold

Coating the cooling earth

As autumn chills the nights.

Love is the frozen crunch

Of footsteps through new snow

Treading where no one trod before,

And making a cold path to follow.

Love is the turning year

Where all is renewed

Season by blessed season

For eyes that can see the light.


 

The final poem is an incomplete fragment. I don’t tend to rework poems once I have finished with them but this one has defied me to finish it. I leave you to ponder on why. 

The Dark Side of Love

 

Love has a dark face,

Beyond the softness

and sweetness and the lost days

Of cherished childhood,

Love has a dark face.

Loves says “NO!”

When we want her to say yes.

Love says, “Never!”

To our hopes and dreams.

Is this truly love then, who

Turns our love away?

Turns us on our heads?

 

I hope these poems and thoughts go some way to defusing the bomb that is Valentine’s day, and whether you are single or in a relationship, that love of some kind is with you this day, and I end with a poem that has haunted me for many years, also with Love in its title.  

George Herbert. 1593–1632

  

286. Love

  
LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,  
      Guilty of dust and sin.  
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack  
      From my first entrance in,  
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning          5
      If I lack’d anything.  
   
‘A guest,’ I answer’d, ‘worthy to be here:’  
     Love said, ‘You shall be he.’  
‘I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,  
      I cannot look on Thee.’   10
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,  
      ‘Who made the eyes but I?’  
   
‘Truth, Lord; but I have marr’d them: let my shame  
      Go where it doth deserve.’  
‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘Who bore the blame?’   15
      ‘My dear, then I will serve.’  
‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’  
      So I did sit and eat.  

 

 

 

Untouchable Face

I don’t know about other writers but I often find I get a certain song with lyrics that strike me as powerful stuck in my mind when I write. It’s a kind of litmus test for the kind of prose I am working on at the time.

I’ve found this song curiously inspiring for a number of years. The emotions it paints with such feeling are at the heart of obsessive love. I’m working on something right now that this could be the theme tune for a central part of it.

Please be aware this song contains strong language. This song would turn the litmus paper bright vivid blood red….

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rc4eYOhNnU8

10 things I really hate about you..(me).

Inspired by both Lua(who will be added to the blogroll a little later) and Shiona(over there already) I thought it would be amusing and informative to make a few confessions of my own..concerning reasons why you might not like me in real life…..B)

Here they are, not in any particular order:

Reason 1. I am impossible to watch TV or a film with as I often shout at the TV, guess the next line or give away the entire plot with speculations. I am told I can ruin it so I try these days to be quiet…and often fail. At least at the cinema the risk of having my teeth pushed down my throat keeps me quiet.

Reason 2. I am blonde. Some people just hate blondes. I don’t know why; they just do.

Reason 3. My silent arrogance. ‘Nuff said.

Reason 4. My apparent tendancy to play one-up-manship in anecdote telling. If you’ve done it, I’ve (apparently) done it longer harder and better. I am told I will do this and it makes others feel bad. Truly sorry about this one; it’s totally unintentional.

Reason 5. I correct people. I don’t just mean professionally but generally. If someone gets something wrong, I am instantly itching to put them right on it, whether it’s a matter of knowledge or of linguistics or just of opinion. One day, someone is going to slap me for it. Along with the #4 fault, it’s something I am working on.

Reason 6. I can’t seem to stop myself offering information whether people want it or not. It means I can come across as a know-it-all and insufferable swot. Sorry. Again trying to amend my ways.

Reason 7. I am a dreadful packrat. Not a problem with a bigger house but in the current one my inability to get rid of things and to hoard is something of a problem

Reason 8. My addiction to scents. I am passionate about things that smell good, from expensive French perfumes, through herbs, through spices and food, all the way to incense and bath products. If you lose me in a shopping centre or a supermarket just go and look for me around the soaps…I am totally unrepentant about this one; you can prise the jasmine oil from my cold dead fingers…

Reason 9. I am useless at mornings. Doesn’t matter what time I get up, it takes hours to get me moving and functioning. In the meantime I am grumpy and unsociable and without mascara my eyes look like anaemic gooseberries. Don’t look at me till the Maybelline has gone on..

Reason 10. I can’t take praise. Or criticism either for that matter. I hate being either right or wrong. I’m usually right, though and people hate me for that sometimes.  That includes me.

Anything to add??? (Please be gentle!)

Love and Hate

“Odi et amo. quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?

Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.”

(I hate and I love. And if you ask me how, I do not know: I only feel it and I’m torn in two. Penguin Classics translation)

These are the words of Roman poet Catullus (c84-54 BC).

I first read this epigram when I was 14 and frankly at the time I didn’t have a clue what the poor sap meant. Surely love and hate are polar opposites, and it is impossible to feel both at the same time?

It wasn’t many years before I began to get the guy’s drift.

You see, love and hate are two sides to the same coin, if you like. The opposite of love is not hate but indiference. You know how you feel when someone treats you badly, that passionate flaring of pain and atavistic desire to get even, to right the wrongs and make them hurt? That’s Hate, ugly stepsister of Love. They’re closely related, because they both demand passion.

Indifference is the lukewarm emotion when you’re not even terribly interested what happens to the former recipient of your affections after you go your separate ways.

I’d rather be hated than have someone not care much one way or another. At least hate proves you are alive and capable of fire. If you can hate, then you can love. While your emotions are neither one nor the other, you’re in a No-man’s-land and living a half life. It may hurt less, but that’s because you feel nothing much at all.

The gold standard is to love and be loved, even if it’s just your cat…