My heart wanted what it wanted despite you’re seeming to leave and be lost to me but you were still there and now, don’t you see I too have remained- – all fidelity.
Those first months did my life course change. in ways I’d not believe – your true self amid so many revealed and when others hid that loving from me your truth I’d still see…
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Laura Bloomsbury in Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft, invites us to write an Octameter for August and Sara Teasdale – it being the 8th month and the birthday of Sara Teasdale (8/8/1884). “Teasdale’s work has been characterized by its simplicity and clarity, her use of classical forms, and her passionate and romantic subject matter.” [https://poets.org/poet/sara-teasdale] and as Laura points out “Love, life, beauty and death are the hallmarks of much of Teasdale’s poetry which is unsurprising given that she lived through wartime as a young woman. Even so she avoids the maudlin in an upbeat way…” This poem is a homage to Sara Teasdale.
How can I say I thank you for the mixed bag of emotions which I will call Love for want of a better word – which I learned at your knee whilst having no inkling of even being schooled…
Love is nurturing – on a physical level of feeding at least and on the mental level of stimulation with books and ideas and even a trip around the world
Love is safety and love is the absence of danger which is not necessarily the same thing
Love is consistency which can go a long way towards making up for other deficiencies
Love is giving a sense of who you are and what your place is in the wider world – it is not sufficient to teach you to talk to anyone from a tramp to the Queen if you don’t know what you want to say.
Imposter syndrome is as transferrable as a gene for diabetes and like that disease it will be a long time before you even figure out you have it – and what “It” is there is no gene sequencer for emotional baggage…
We learn to love like layers of an onion and so much depends on the fertility of the soil which is that original family and however crooked the plant grows – be glad if you at least had a family.
Love starts with a teat your mother’s if you are lucky or perhaps a bottle freely given on demand
Love expands too if you are lucky enough to have siblings – you add another layer to your personal culture when you go to school when you expand your horizons to town, country and however much of the world you are lucky enough to encounter
If you are not lucky and your bulb grows amongst stones, is not fed good food and stimulation for the mind – if you encounter trauma by loss, violence or abuse your multilayered onion will reflect its origins…
Eventually you may break away from the family home, home town and learn of other loves but your affinity has already set by earlier lessons learned This one is never secure That one is self-centred This one is restless and That one puts up with rather than taking care of themselves
Love is as varied as the human beings who practise it and the combinations in couples as varied as the genes they may mesh together in the lottery of life
But lucky or unlucky everybody needs to know what they learned of love and work out what works for them and those they love…
Love is in the air and is intoxicating as the fumes of brandy in a glass balloon it wafts beyond the happy pairs of lovers rekindling memories of a younger age re-living and reeling with heady recall
Three grandsons now perhaps have found their matches and you know when talk turns to children and which football tribe they should be raised in that these are keepers
I have never been to a match and been drunk on shared passion in a huge crowd but watching a film whilst waiting to meet the latest and last to join the set, we shared the intimacy of lovers in Portrait of a Lady on Fire
A camera takes us to the heart of an orchestra in concert with a closeness to each player’s breath and movement as they embrace their instruments to pull on our heartstrings and film likewise grants us close-ups of couples we would never see in real life our neighbours love lives hidden in semi-detached suburban rooms separate, unknowable, ineffable no matter how openly the rest of our proximate lives are lived was it different in the warm fug of tribal longhouses lovemaking couples as close as the next cocooning hammock?
Children don’t care to imagine their parents making love imagining they are beyond all that however deep the love they daily show and parents don’t dare to imagine their children either the perils of the heart the baton passed but when love is in the air for those lucky enough to have roots deep in the rich soil of happy parents there is the hope of templating happy families to come
Such open-hearted boys have not escaped without venturing up blind alleys at least two have had songs of heartbreak loss and bewilderment plucked painfully on their heartstrings before finding their way safely to harbour in calmer but still deep water after storm-tossed seas
I held those boys as babies drew or close-up photographed their sleeping faces turned their living-room into a fort, cave, nest or whatever their imagination could conjure from the jumble of throws and giant cushions taught them the love of the pun witnessed tantrums and triumphs watched football from the sidelines, school and scout uniforms gowns and mortarboards how could I not be drawn along in the wake of their love lives dropping away like the pilot boat waving up to the after-deck as I slow down and they gather pace on their own voyages of love
The calmness and Giaconda smile of one, the bubbling enthusiasm of another perfume from Morrocco the first impression throwing one off the scent of the depths of a doctor the brightness and humanity of all of them grandsons and girlfriends alike mingling as a family dancing in ever closer union my head spins and my heartstrings resonate simply on the fumes as love is in the air.
What if Chess, instead of being a metaphorical game of war and strategy, were instead, the pursuit of love? Instead of trying to get with the King in order to kill him, moving to the same square by the opposite Queen – or King was the attainment of bliss. Queens may rush about the board whilst hubby is stuck at the office, out bringing home the bacon and should it prove that they swing the other way, then they may be cloaked in the invisibility that Queen Victoria’s disbelief in sapphic love affords them and the game may be quickly concluded if both parties are willing. Kings, on the other hand, are slow movers when it comes to finding lasting love, for all their possible willingness to philander and play the field, whether hetero- or homosexual, a lasting love is hard to find…
What of the other pieces on the Chessboard – who might they represent and how might they come into play? The pawns are clearly children – they are small and can only take correspondingly small steps – unless they reach the other side of the board, by which time they are suddenly all grown up and can be whoever they want to be! They may be the children of the King and Queen or perhaps nephews and nieces yet despite their diminutive stature they may have important roles in the game – how many friendships have begun over the heads of children at the school gate? Children’s parties, babysitting, children as go-betweens – many are the opportunities afforded by children to adults in the pursuit of love…
who is to say that a King or Queen cannot use their partner’s bestie to further their cause
Then there are the other adults divided, according to whose shoulder they stand at, King or Queen, into his or her friends and relations. Bishops are the moralists – always ready to jump in and pour cold water on one whose fires have been lit by lust for another but even they, with their decisive, diagonal strikes, can be manipulated into furthering their besties, nephew or nieces, son’ or daughter’s cause. Rooks are those stalwart friends whose loyalty can always be relied on, even if their movement is limited to left and right and who is to say that a King or Queen cannot use their partner’s bestie to further their cause – after all, they are on the same side, aren’t they? The Knight though, is the real best friend, for even though their moves are complicated, they offer great utility and are the ones to watch out for once sent forth to do the King or Queen’s bidding.
Whether you frame the game in terms of High School trysts ( a whole cast of friends, besties and teachers), singletons struggling to find The One, extramarital hanky-panky or the ongoing search for love and companionship in widowhood, Chess could be re-imagined as the Game of Love not War – you may never look at a Chess piece the same way ever again…
Some Grand Master games worth studying:- Shakespeare – Romeo and Juliet, The Taming of the Shrew Scott Fitzgerald – The Great Gatsby Jane Austen – Pride and Prejudice Boris Pasternak – Dr Zhivago John Steinbeck – Of Mice and Men Charlotte Bronte – Jane Eyre Nicola Griffith – Ammonite
Being a newbie to the Challenge, I had not realized that a reflection post was de rigeur but better late than never! I only discovered the Challenge on April 1st and so I had also missed the theme launch which meant I had no option but to be a “pantser” and being full of thoughts on the lockdown, that became my theme – personal and societal responses (including my resumption of blogging). Having such a broad canvas meant I could also adopt a wide variety of styles, op-ed, poetry, fiction, and photography. I do think that once a few people found me, this varied nature might have helped to keep readers coming back. To begin with there were hardly any pageviews until I made a couple of reviews of other blogs – after all, I had no extant readers after a gap from 2013 but numbers started to climb after Fréderiqué gave me some good advice on promotion and offered solid support throughout the Challenge! So by the end of the month, the pageviews had reached around 1000 and a couple of posts reached the dizzying number of 45 pageviews each! However, this is not the best way to measure success as a blogger and instead, what has pleased me much more, is that a I feel I have made a couple of solid friends who will continue to visit and vice versa. What did I enjoy writing most (since I have already spoken about the blogs I have enjoyed reading) – well I did a lot of research for M – Money and N – neo Liberalism and I enjoyed boiling down complex issues to bite-sized pieces which I hope were digestible – there are some very complex issues facing the world at present. At the other end of the scale, I wrote the L – Love poem very quickly, using song titles to start and theme each verse and I think I succeeded in making something touching, funny and thought-provoking – not necessarily in that order… Will I do it again next year? If the fates and Covid 19 allow both in health and time, I would love to join this special club again. As to whether I would pre-prepare posts, I don’t know – it takes some of the pressure off and allows reflection and editing time but there is great stimulation in “pantsing” and the opportunity to react to current events too. Hopefully, we shall not be living in quite such dramatic times by then – but I wouldn’t count on it…
This post is part of the A to Z 2020 Challenge. I have decided to theme the posts around personal and societal responses to the Covid 19 crisis, including my resumption of Blogging! Love is in the air For young lovers in lockdown While lost loves Dream of love locked up Not locked down. Love is the drug That takes you to a different place Consumes you from within Tricking your cells To accept false flags Before breaking your heart. It’s a thin line between love and hate Love the time we have Hate the loss of freedom Saving money because we can’t spend it Losing money because we can’t earn it. I hope that I don’t fall in love Let me be a survivor Don’t wanna be a deep-sea diver Or win a million fivers Just let me live and love a little longer. The one who loves you Hides in plain sight You never gonna feel its bite Covid 19 – Who loves ya baby… —————————————————————— Love is in the air John Paul Young Love is the drug Roxy Music It’s a thin line between love and hate Annie Lennox I hope that I don’t fall in love Juliet Turner The one who loves you The Divine Comedy
