I was asked this question eighteen months ago, but didn’t have an answer. Since then, on and off – and in truth far more off than on – I’ve been trying to write a poem that defines Love for me.
The dictionary says a strong positive emotion of regard and affection, which is about as dry an explanation as one could expect from such a tome. And of course academia doesn’t put the word into context… a task left instead to poets, artists, musicians and others who’ve tried over centuries to capture this trickiest of social constructs and define it in a way that resonates.
But we’re all different, and Love is not a single tangible entity, and it’d be quite possible to write the largest blog post in the history of blogging, quoting all the opinions and general musings ever written, yet still fail to produce anything definitive. It’s a beast with many faces, too lithe and slippery to catch and contain. And so I shall just leave you with two small offerings: a delightful ditty from Dorothy Parker and my own sorry work-in-progress.
Feel free to share your thoughts and favourites…
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea;
And love is a thing that can never go wrong;
And I am Marie of Roumania.
~ Dorothy Parker
It is naked, alone in the canyon’s early sun
The brief suspense between ground and flight
An unexpected recall of memories forgotten
It is Ice
It is Fire
It is Pitch
It is Light
It is darkness, its shadows, an unknown sound
Hot spices infusing the half-starved mind
First breath inhaled, last drawn slowly out
It is Still
It is Deaf
It is Mute
It is Blind
~ Sandie Zand