Monday, February 02, 2009

Despite and Still. Style guru dog. Saved Nut # 4

The dressing gown floorshow was a more elaborate affair than the usual often rather perfunctory twirl of the cord.

"Is that the morris dancing version?" I asked.
"It was supposed" he replied "to be the can-can."

I hugged him hard. The edge of tears,the toppling from ordinariness or laughter over it, is now more like turning one's foot on the kerbside than plummeting into any worse abyss.

"I wish we were tougher people."
"I know."

A Robert Graves poem came to mind, which I looked up.

Have you not read
The words in my head,
And I made part
Of your own heart?
We have been such as draw
The losing straw -
You of your gentleness,
I of my rashness,
Both of despair -
Yet still might share
This happy will:
To love despite and still...

The last lines

But, O, refuse
To choose
Where chance may seem to give
Loves in alternative.

are satisfyingly irrelevant. A post and some comments over at Dave King's a while back, about Anna Akhmatova, made me ponder a bit about growing out of love poetry. The stuff that drew me in isn't what I stay for. That poetry about sedate, spousal, well-worn love, washing one's clean linen in public, as it were, runs the risk of being smug and uninteresting, but the other kind often now seems overwrought and self-indulgent. Another post another time, perhaps, but probably not. Love poems for grown-ups, anyone?


Molly has a very stylish translucent royal blue lampshade. She seemed genuinely pleased with it, but then she quite likes any new thing pertaining to herself which involves fuss and making much of. She also has a pink one, but I think she looks better in blue, not being a very girlie girl.
Yesterday's jab, that we had to do ourselves, could have been worse. For Molly and for me anyway. We're very touched by all your kindness about her, especially from those who I know are not really 'dog people', but who take our affection for her and concerns about her seriously nevertheless.
Saved Nut # 4
Joe writing about the profligacy of digital photography reminded me of it, and when I read back over it, I had that pleasant sense of unfamiliarity - did I write this? - which I think is often a good sign. At the time, in the comments, I was asked 'But how do you know?' The answer should have been, for I am ever someone who never thinks of the bon mot at the moment it is called for, even in writing when I've time to think about it, is 'I just gno!'


jzr said...

Molly indeed looks very stylish and I hope she is feeling better. By the time you finish this you will be an expert with the needle!!

Bee said...

Poems about well-worn love? My husband and I are going through one of those (blessed) romantic phases that will suddenly grace a marriage of long standing. One feels so grateful for those times (or even moments) - kind of like the anecdote you describe. As you say (or I infer, rather), most of the love poetry deals with that chemically heightened early stage when all sorts of grand and rash things are promised (and meant).

Your descriptions of Molly are always so loving. Her little upside-down lampshade!

Fire Bird said...

Oh Molly! Lampshade pride!

apprentice said...

I love your introductory piece, it's a poem in itself.

Levertov's The ache of marriage is the best poem I know on the subject:

The ache of marriage

thigh and tongue, beloved,
are heavy with it,
it throbs in the teeth
We look for communion
and are turned away, beloved,
each and each

It is leviathan and we
in its belly
looking for joy, some joy
not to be known outside it

two by two in the ark of
the ache of it.

meggie said...

Molly does look very fetching in blue! Get Better Molly.

Zhoen said...

Contented love is not well fitted to poets. Not impossible, I think, just not most natural.

Dear Molly, one of the family.

christopher said...

Another One Of Those Questions

How many are there
living in the sweet calm lake
of love contented
to be so long paired
that the wedding is only
the pictures, the old
announcement, the ring
still worn if not lost somehow?

HLiza said...

It's really unnecessary for me to understand every single word in this post (coz I always feel your English command is way too high for my level!)..because every words seems so touching to me. I think I feel it.
I would say I want to see Mol in pink lampshade (coz I'm really a pink person)..but blue makes her look calmer. She'll stay strong with your affection..

vicki johnson said...

love the pic of Molly! What a great girl.

Your opening lines are beautiful.

Roderick Robinson said...

My poetry repertoire is too limited to offer anything new on non-juvenile love. But I did once see a beautiful theatrical display of what love can mean to an adult - using that word in both senses: accumulation of years and "grown up". A black and white BBC TV production of "As you like it" with Margaret Leighton as Rosalind (playing against her then husband, Laurence Harvey). By emphasising Rosalind's intelligence she was able to convey a slight sense of irritation at being drawn to someone who was somewhat her inferior while still acknowledging the overriding physical attraction he generated. I can't ever remember a better distinction between the coolness of the intellect and the heat of the body fused into one person. Her age (forties, perhaps?) was a vital component. This wasn't "Romeo and Juliet".

Michelle said...

Tres chic, Molly. Blue is so you ;)

herhimnbryn said...

Ah, Lucy your poem is so touching and 'real'. I read your post a couple of days ago and am still on a mission to find 'grown-up' love poems. The weather here being so hot I am spending time with a pile of poetry books.......hunting!

Moll. you look much better.

Anonymous said...

What a lovely meditation on 'grown-up love', Lucy. It captures so very well something of value that can only be apprehended and understood by those who experience it. And the Graves is a fine choice.

Avus said...

Moll seems to like her "ruff".
I took my German Shepherd to the vet's today as he appeared to have an itchy bum, which I know can mean anal glands need clearing (I hope you are not eating at present?).
The rather lovely young lady vet put on her rubber gloves to perform the "digital insertion & squeeze" procedure. She lifted his tail and exclaimed "oh what a pretty bum he has - nice and tight".
I must confess that, not having made a study of such canine ephemera, I had not realised.
How proud I am to have a dog with a pretty, tight bum!

Your note about mature love poetry inspires me to do a posting about one of my favourite poets. Thanks