Long Live Love

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul
.
(Pablo Neruda,One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII)

You are not like maple syrup, sickly sweet,
nor bitterness in hops, you are smooth and round
my cushion, a companion of an icy night,
your breath is fire, and your words are flint.
You are not brittle, no orchid butterfly.
not a gentle sigh of the shaded contrast
of brushstrokes on a whitewashed wall.
You are my soil, my path, overgrown and soft
from rain, a leaf that clings to branches, last
I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,

or bed sheet silk, linen, still cooled by night.
I don’t love you like a symphony, or cello.
there is no spreadsheet logic, not perfume
my love contains no subpoena secrets, or a truth
of hidden recipes for Sunday breakfast waffles.
My love is welded, strong, a gneiss desire
it is quartz and flesh, a chilli slowly cooked,
it is creosote perfumed and summer sun and icicles
I don’t love as if you were an iron violet
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:

You are the pause between my heartbeats,
the moment just before I wake from dreams.
You are the fish, you are the eagle’s talon
gripping rattlesnakes, you are the eye of owls,
waves in a breeze-stirred wheat-field of July.
I am the snake and I’ve loved you ever since
we stood freezing on the pier in January rain,
wind embraced in harbour salt, in reek of wool
and there untuned, a suite for subtle strings
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,

almost shameful, like a childhood memory
kept too long, ripe and sweet like plums
stolen from a neighbour’s tree, an angry voice
still cursing me for the innocence of thefts.
You are loud like whispers at a crowded cafe
or a Sunday morning on my sidewalk stroll
when I proudly show the coat I just bought.
You are my midnight tears and laughter:
I love you densely like an emptiness, a hole
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

Long Live Love
Max Ernst

Today we have Open Link Live at dVerse with Sanaa hosting. As has become my habit I went back and looked for something old that would suit. This is glosa I wrote back in 2015 which I touched up a little bit and changed the title of.

February 17, 20222

21 responses to “Long Live Love

  1. A beautiful poem Bjorn, reminds me of one I wrote with similar imagery a long time ago. Enjoyed this part especially : “I don’t love you like a symphony, or cello.
    there is no spreadsheet logic, not perfume
    my love contains no subpoena secrets, or a truth
    of hidden recipes for Sunday breakfast waffles.
    My love is welded, strong, a gneiss desire
    it is quartz and flesh, a chilli slowly cooked,”

  2. Luscious, raw, full, unyielding, especially in reference to wildlife..but the referencing and allusions also reminds me of some lovely W H Auden poetry, together with the strong emotion you convey…lovely stuff…and amazingly impressive, so much, and this alone makes it an entertaining read, in which we are taken far and wide….a lexical adventure…..I mean…
    you are the eye of owls,
    waves in a breeze-stirred wheat-field of July.
    I am the snake and I’ve loved you ever since
    we stood freezing on the pier in January rain,

    Stunning!

  3. As good as any Shakespeare, Bjorn. The way love is described by what it is not is precious. The articulation is profound. I hope you’ve shared this with your wife.

  4. You are the pause between my heartbeats,
    the moment just before I wake from dreams.

    what a beautiful , truthful , sweet emotion you evoke with these words.

  5. beautiful – also in the twist … btw speaking of emptiness Bjorn, wp ate your comment to my contribution to same d/Verse, just as I was reading it – if you’d care to re-submit? Thank you.

  6. This is really a stunning piece. There are so many lines and phrases I could quote as being particularly unique and stark, but this line has resonance and ripple that could carry it far into the future hands of poetry lovers, as if you are Emily Dickinson herself:
    “I love you as one loves certain obscure things” … “I love you densely like an emptiness” … This is so real and weighted, as opposed to light and frilly, just for show and effect. Fabulous work.

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