Poetry: the act of love

 Words, words, words.

So often I've heard that old dating cliche, "Don't tell me, show me." I think it's even a song from MY FAIR LADY. It's the battle cry of an impatient lover, a neglected girlfriend, or anyone who has ever loved and felt hurt. 

People say "I love you" a lot. And therefore the words lose their meaning. But why as lovers do we then give up on words?

We seem to think that the road to love, true love, is actions. It's where the rubber meets the road, so to speak. And it's true. If you love me, show me! 

But if you love me, tell me too. With poetry. 

The language of love, poetry, is a heart activating action. To put words to feeling. To construct a spoken ode to your lover or to read the words of another poet to them in the dark. This is a true act of love. And one that my materialistic generation seems to have forgotten about. 

We didn't have to recite poems in school when we were young. We didn't have to memorize sonnets or stand in front of the class and read our own poetry. Poetry to my generation was a lost art. Something our parents were into, if we were lucky and privileged like me. My mother majored in poetry at Wellseley. My grandmother created a compilation book of my whole family's favorite poems. My grandfather, now 93, works on his poetry every day. He was a banker. 

But poetry used to be for ALL. All classes, all races, all lovers. 

What happened? How did we lose our poems? We decided to listen to music instead -- to worship songs. We made mix tapes and memorized lyrics to our favorite tunes. But songs can be a lazy man's love tool. They do all the work for us. 

To read a poem out loud to a lover. To write how you feel in the rhythm of sexual intercourse and then speak it...that is a lost art! (Except for Kae Tempest. She knows what she is doing.)

We don't want to hear the words. We want you to "show us" how you feel. 

But in this capitalist, patriarchal culture, often "show me" ends up feeling more like "show me the money!" We want you to buy our love. We want STUFF. We want sacrifice. We want love to be a financial commitment - like marriage. We want to merge assets. But for anyone who has ever been married with children, you know that there is nothing LESS romantic than arguing over a CVS receipt or a poopy diaper. Money and parenting can be death to desire. 

And sometimes not. Yes, the nitty, gritty commitment and care that long term relationships require is life-changing. It's mind altering. It's beautiful to love someone through the shit of life. To show up day after day. To pay the bills together. To kiss someone goodnight. 

But I can safely say that a love without poetry is missing quite a lot. 

If you can't tell me how you feel. If you can't whisper Rilke in my ear. If you can't passionately express desire through words, this poet's heart grows cold. 

Read to me! Write to me! 

I started writing poetry this year -- during the pandemic. I fell in love with a woman and she fell in love with me. We sent each other spotify playlists and art. And I sent poems. And I wrote poems. They became like prayers. Each time I wrote or read, I fell more in love. 

Poems are like spells - the words are powerful and potent and meant to evoke feelings. OF LOVE. 

In a time when we cannot go out on a romantic date to the theatre or to our favorite restaurant, how are we supposed to keep the flame aglow? How can we keep love and passion in our hearts and bodies when we have been stuck in the same house alone or with the same human for 8 months!?

I suggest poems. 

Write them. Read them. Feel how silly and beautiful it is. Let the words wash over you. Let them melt your heart. Let the cadence turn you on. And pretty soon, those pretty words will become actions. And pretty soon you will be in love again. With life. With yourself. With your partner. 

A few days ago my relationship with the woman ended. We could not make the daily routine of our lives meld. The obstacles were many and difficult and made way worse by the global pandemic. The reality of our connection overcame the fantasy. 

But we did share love. We shared poems and touch and beauty and art. And it was worth it. It reminded us, if very briefly, that life is beautiful. And so are we. 

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I'm back on the dating apps and last night I randomly matched with an older man from Madrid. He told me the sun was just rising over the city and he was in bed, reading. I was laying sleepless in bed at 12:30am. He asked if he could read to me. I said yes. (Honestly, I've wanted someone to read me to sleep for a very long time.)

He instructed me to lay and close my eyes and put the phone to my ear. I did. 

And then he read poetry to me in Italian. I didn't understand one word. But I closed my eyes and let the ever-flowing river of words wash over my heart. I could hear his breathing quicken. I could hear his tongue circling the words gently. I felt worshipped. I felt as if I was every woman who has ever been loved and caressed. We couldn't see each other and we've never met, but the sexual potency of poetry bonded us across oceans and timezones! It was one of the most erotic moments of my life to date. And we didn't even touch. 

He doesn't love me. And I don't love him. 

But we loved each other last night. Through poetry. 

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I live alone with my kids. I don't have someone to hold me with their arms or be a big spoon at night. But if you do, and you are feeling that the spark is waning, or that your passion and desire is too muddled with your daily loving acts of service and sacrifice. 

Pick up a book of poems. Shut off the lights. Light a candle. And whisper the words in your lover's ear. 

You will laugh, you may cry, you may become aroused. But I guarantee the act of poetry will conjure LOVE. That is why it was created. 

xo