Sunday is Valentine's Day and Chinese New Year, so why not share a Chinese love poem? Chang Yu lived in the ninth century. I got this poem out of the anthology Sunflower Splendor: Three Thousand Years of Chinese Poetry
"Song of Farewell" in the Tartar Mode
The sheen of the willows spreads ten thousand feet,
The fragrance of peach blossoms fills the park.
But when the wind blows it past the curtain,
There's only the scent that clings to the dress.
Lee over at I'm Here. I'm Queer. What the hell do I read? is hosting the round-up!
Book Provided by... my wallet, many years ago.
Links to Amazon are an affiliate link. You can help support Biblio File by purchasing any item (not just the one linked to!) through these links. Read my full disclosure statement.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Friday, February 12, 2010
Monday, February 01, 2010
End of the Affair
Last Sunday, I was reading in bed and Dan was whistling Forever Young. It was unbelievably annoying so I asked him to stop because I was trying to read. He's used to me being able to read through anything, so he looked over "Really? What are you read-- wait? GRAHAM GREENE? You're reading a book for adults?!"
I think his brain might have exploded this weekend when he caught me with some Elizabeth Gaskell.
The End of the Affair Graham Greene
On the surface, this is the story about what happens when our narrator, Maurice Bendrix runs into Henry Miles one night. Bendrix used to be having an affair with Henry's wife, Sarah, but she left him eighteen months ago. Bendrix hasn't gotten over it. Having the Mileses appear back in his life reopens the wounds that Sarah left. Bendrix wants to hurt her like she hurt him--he wants his revenge. As the story progresses, we get bits and pieces of their original relationship, how it began and the day it ended...
In the beginning, Bendrix claims that this is a record of hate far more than of love, for he hates Sarah now and wants to destroy her. Of course, despite Bendrix's protestations of hate, as the story goes on we see how his hate is a mask for his pain, he doesn't really hate at all. As Sarah says, ...Maurice who thinks he hates, and loves, loves all the time. Even his enemies.
It's a story of acceptance of loss, of London during the war (such minor details, such as standing on the sidewalk, the glass of blown-out and shattered windows under their feet). And it's a book about spiritual growth. Sarah left Bendrix for God. At the beginning, none of the characters believed, but in examining what happened and what happened after, Sarah becomes a Catholic believer and at the end, Bendrix and Henry aren't as sure in their atheism. For, in Bendrix's destroyed house, only the stained glass window survived, unmoving and unblemished by the bombs.
Perfectly crafted, Greene explores these relationships between people and religion with a slight hand (the entire book is only 192 pages). The prose is quiet and understated, but there is so much depth. I can't wait to read more of his work.
Book Provided by... my local library
Links to Amazon are an affiliate link. You can help support Biblio File by purchasing any item (not just the one linked to!) through these links. Read my full disclosure statement.
I think his brain might have exploded this weekend when he caught me with some Elizabeth Gaskell.
On the surface, this is the story about what happens when our narrator, Maurice Bendrix runs into Henry Miles one night. Bendrix used to be having an affair with Henry's wife, Sarah, but she left him eighteen months ago. Bendrix hasn't gotten over it. Having the Mileses appear back in his life reopens the wounds that Sarah left. Bendrix wants to hurt her like she hurt him--he wants his revenge. As the story progresses, we get bits and pieces of their original relationship, how it began and the day it ended...
In the beginning, Bendrix claims that this is a record of hate far more than of love, for he hates Sarah now and wants to destroy her. Of course, despite Bendrix's protestations of hate, as the story goes on we see how his hate is a mask for his pain, he doesn't really hate at all. As Sarah says, ...Maurice who thinks he hates, and loves, loves all the time. Even his enemies.
It's a story of acceptance of loss, of London during the war (such minor details, such as standing on the sidewalk, the glass of blown-out and shattered windows under their feet). And it's a book about spiritual growth. Sarah left Bendrix for God. At the beginning, none of the characters believed, but in examining what happened and what happened after, Sarah becomes a Catholic believer and at the end, Bendrix and Henry aren't as sure in their atheism. For, in Bendrix's destroyed house, only the stained glass window survived, unmoving and unblemished by the bombs.
Perfectly crafted, Greene explores these relationships between people and religion with a slight hand (the entire book is only 192 pages). The prose is quiet and understated, but there is so much depth. I can't wait to read more of his work.
Book Provided by... my local library
Links to Amazon are an affiliate link. You can help support Biblio File by purchasing any item (not just the one linked to!) through these links. Read my full disclosure statement.
Friday, January 08, 2010
Poetry Friday
Dan and I are celebrating our 7th anniversary on Monday, so of course I had to do a love poem today. And, we spent our honeymoon in Edinburgh, so I thought a Scottish one would be good. (The picture above is from our afternoon in Paris this fall. Over on the left, you can just see the top of the Eiffel Tower.)
O, my luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly spring in June.
O, my luve is like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun!
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only love,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!
Robert Burns
Friday, January 11, 2008
Dance a Little Closer to Me, Dance a Little Closer Tonight
Ok, before we get started, a quick announcement, I'm blogging over at Geek Buffet about YA lit and that an age range is not a genre.
But, now, a story. It's a funny one.
So, January in Wisconsin is cold and snowy and icy. And one January, 5 years ago today, it was really, really cold. Dan and I went to church with my parents. There was a Saturday evening service.
At some point in the service, a Sunday School (Saturday School?) teacher went to the supply cabinet to get some safety pins. Only, when she opened the door, she found Dan and me, making out and sharing a bottle of Johnny Walker.
When she apologized, I said, "Oh no, it's OK. We're getting married in an hour."
And the ceremony was beautiful. At the end, I have to admit, I wasn't really paying attention, and thought the minister was done speaking, and so I went in to get the kiss, only to have everyone laugh at me, because he wasn't done, just takng a breath to finish his last sentence.
And there was good food and good music and good friends and we danced the night away and at the end of the night, my dad and his friends put the ice swan to swim across the frozen pond out front and all our friends stole the left over wine and had an after party that is now legend and is STILL talked about to this day.
I really can't believe it was 5 years ago. It doesn't seem like that long. So, I've used this poem before, but it was one we had read during the ceremony, so I'm using it again.
Why Marry at All?
Why mar what has grown up between the cracks
and flourished like a weed
that discovers itself to bear rugged
spikes of magneta blossoms in August,
ironweed sturdy and bold,
a perennial that endures winters to persist?
Why register with the state?
Why enlist in the legions of the respectable?
Why risk the whole apparatus of roles
and rules, of laws and liabilities?
Why license our bed at the foot
like our Datsun truck: will the mileage improve?
Why encumber our love with patriarchal
word stones, with the old armor
of husband and the corset stays
and the chains of wife? Marriage
meant buying a breeding womb
and sole claim to enforced sexual service.
Marriage has built boxes in which women
have burst their hearts sooner
than those walls; boxes of private
slow murder and the fading of the bloom
in the blood; boxes in which secret
bruises appear like toadstools in the morning.
But we cannot invent a language
of new grunts. We start where we find
ourselves, at this time and place.
Which is always the crossing of roads
that began beyond the earth's curve
but whose destination we can now alter.
This is a public saying to all our friends
that we want to stay together. We want
to share our lives. We mean to pledge
ourselves through times of broken stone
and seasons of rose and ripe plum;
we have found out, we know, we want to continue.
--Marge Piercy
But, now, a story. It's a funny one.
So, January in Wisconsin is cold and snowy and icy. And one January, 5 years ago today, it was really, really cold. Dan and I went to church with my parents. There was a Saturday evening service.
At some point in the service, a Sunday School (Saturday School?) teacher went to the supply cabinet to get some safety pins. Only, when she opened the door, she found Dan and me, making out and sharing a bottle of Johnny Walker.
When she apologized, I said, "Oh no, it's OK. We're getting married in an hour."
And the ceremony was beautiful. At the end, I have to admit, I wasn't really paying attention, and thought the minister was done speaking, and so I went in to get the kiss, only to have everyone laugh at me, because he wasn't done, just takng a breath to finish his last sentence.
And there was good food and good music and good friends and we danced the night away and at the end of the night, my dad and his friends put the ice swan to swim across the frozen pond out front and all our friends stole the left over wine and had an after party that is now legend and is STILL talked about to this day.
I really can't believe it was 5 years ago. It doesn't seem like that long. So, I've used this poem before, but it was one we had read during the ceremony, so I'm using it again.
Why Marry at All?
Why mar what has grown up between the cracks
and flourished like a weed
that discovers itself to bear rugged
spikes of magneta blossoms in August,
ironweed sturdy and bold,
a perennial that endures winters to persist?
Why register with the state?
Why enlist in the legions of the respectable?
Why risk the whole apparatus of roles
and rules, of laws and liabilities?
Why license our bed at the foot
like our Datsun truck: will the mileage improve?
Why encumber our love with patriarchal
word stones, with the old armor
of husband and the corset stays
and the chains of wife? Marriage
meant buying a breeding womb
and sole claim to enforced sexual service.
Marriage has built boxes in which women
have burst their hearts sooner
than those walls; boxes of private
slow murder and the fading of the bloom
in the blood; boxes in which secret
bruises appear like toadstools in the morning.
But we cannot invent a language
of new grunts. We start where we find
ourselves, at this time and place.
Which is always the crossing of roads
that began beyond the earth's curve
but whose destination we can now alter.
This is a public saying to all our friends
that we want to stay together. We want
to share our lives. We mean to pledge
ourselves through times of broken stone
and seasons of rose and ripe plum;
we have found out, we know, we want to continue.
--Marge Piercy
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)