love

oh man the task of planning a wedding could go on and on if you let it. like if you really wanted, you could say "let's spend the rest of our lives planning on getting married," and no doubt some marriages would probably be better for it.

in the interest of actually having a married life, as opposed to just an engaged one, i've taken up the issues of music and poetry for the ceremony as of late. love poems and love songs, to be exact. it started almost two months ago, actually, and i'll admit my initial effort was rather tenuous.

a visit to the public library produced results from the almost satirical (irish love poems), to the all-but-uplifting (Ashberry), to the overly-ceremonious. I don't want something about love– i want something about our love, about my love, so much so that it almost need not even be about love; i could stomach not seeing the word on the page, even, if a poem really spoke to me.

Neruda came to mind immediately at the undertaking of this assignment, followed by the realization that some friends had just used one at their wedding last year, and that it might be crossing some proprietary wedding border to use another one in the same social circle too soon. Beat to the punch.

the next best option seemed to be to consult with a member of the aforementioned wedding party who chose as i would've, had i been engaged two years ago. Rilke had come up already; i found it a bit dramatic, though i'm really no expert. The suggestion of Rumi brought me back to being a teenager: the girl i went to prom with (whom i saw last week for the first time in a couple years, and is now married) gave me a collection of the 13th century persian philosopher's poetry, reminding me of how i went to bed reading Henry Rollins' anecdotes of seeing his friend shot in the face in front of their apartment (Now Watch Him Die)– tiring stuff indeed– and waking the next morning, finding the motivation to get myself out of my teenage, angst-padded bed with Rumi's Daylight. Perhaps...

One suggestion i received was for Frank O'Hara. O'Hara, a classmate of Ashbery's at Harvard, had a bit more of a soft side, or a different one at least. He's kinda blowing my mind:

Morning
Frank O'Hara


I've got to tell you
how I love you always
I think of it on grey
mornings with death

in my mouth the tea
is never hot enough
then and the cigarette
dry the maroon robe

chills me I need you
and look out the window
at the noiseless snow

At night on the dock
the buses glow like
clouds and I am lonely
thinking of flutes

I miss you always
when I go to the beach
the sand is wet with
tears that seem mine

although I never weep
and hold you in my
heart with a very real
humor you'd be proud of

the parking lot is
crowded and I stand
rattling my keys the car
is empty as a bicycle

what are you doing now
where did you eat your
lunch and were there
lots of anchovies it

is difficult to think
of you without me in
the sentence you depress
me when you are alone

Last night the stars
were numerous and today
snow is their calling
card I'll not be cordial

there is nothing that
distracts me music is
only a crossword puzzle
do you know how it is

when you are the only
passenger if there is a
place further from me
I beg you do not go


Balanced, yet raw. sentimental, but not too much. i like. gonna sit with it for a while.

And for some reason, it got me thinking about Ron Sexsmith, particularly his 1999 release Whereabouts, a great record that was produced by Mitchell Froom and Tchad Blake and features my favorite electric bass player of all time, Bruce Thomas of The Attractions fame. this record is fucking sexy, and everyone should have it.

staring down these days ahead
and the days gone by
all these regrets
best make room for love

seems we're always racing
with trouble too close behind
we may never win
but where there's still hope, there's still time