So it’s Valentines Day. And what’s that feeling in the back of my mind, just hiding, keeping me distracted and unable to focus on any one task? Well, I’m going to be blunt–I think it’s anger.

My morning was productive: painted and glazed some pottery, made some lunch for work, did some dishes. But then, faced with some free time, the knowledge that I just hadn’t been posting like I should (?could) be on here, and a tidy topical holiday, I went online to look for some love poetry. I figured some quick links, some discussion, maybe I’d even get inspired and write some of my own.

It all started well enough at the Poetry Foundation’s Collection of Love Poems. I began clicking & reading, jotting down notes on poems I found meaningful:

• You Were You Are An Elegy by Mary Jo Bang
  • I read this in loving memory of my second ectopic pregnancy
• Yours and Mine by Alice Fulton
  • For when you realize sadly that maybe your perspectives on love were always different
• The Nails by WS Merwin
  • A breakup poem that captures the moment when you can’t say anything at all

The meaning in “meaningful” was starting to become clear, though, as my sad-girl tendencies reared their ugly heads (like a snake-headed Medusa, each snake a tiny sad girl prepared to paralyze you with emo-eyes, forever trapped in sorrow).

So I gave up, tucked my notes under the edge of my computer, and browsed other topics. One of my favorite website’s author just put out a children’s book based on the left-swirled snail! And behold, it is a happy story!

I can always drown my intellect in Brain Pickings for awhile, but this time, a pop-up distracted me. Don’t get me wrong–it was the best type of pop-up, as it merely suggested that I needed to read a poem and provided me with an excerpt. Delightful! For Valentine’s Day perhaps, the selection was “The More Loving One” by WH Auden (see below).

It is a frequently quoted love poem, meant to embody perhaps true devotion, perhaps unrequited love… The most commonly cited lines are “If equal affection cannot be, / Let the more loving one be me.”

Wanting to reading the whole poem, however, I headed over to the full text at the Academy of American Poetry. Meet me below the embedded poem for some more discussion, after you read it of course. (You may have to scroll & close their email subscription pop-up, ugh.)

The poem’s idea is simple enough. We love the stars, but they don’t give a shit about us. That’s ok though because I’d rather be the lover that the object. But really, how much do I love stars? Well, not enough to miss them during the day, and come to think of it–I’d love the dark sky too. So what is the bottom line? Since the stars can’t love him back, is this lover fickle? Or is he just perhaps another human who loves to play the martyr? And what of his new love, the dark night sky. He loves as a mortal loves. Only that which can be seen and only when he sees it. The stars do not cease to be during the day–only his love ceases. But then again, won’t the darkness fade too? There will be a time when even the wonder-er in this poem (that I call “he”) ceases to be. And what of his love then?

I began to become cynical and judgmental of myself at this point. I cannot even read a beloved Auden poem without becoming enraged at the ineptitude of humans to love. But if I know nothing else, I know that I love love poetry and that in this wide world encompassing centuries of literature, there is some that is not sad or short sighted.

So I turned to some old faves. On the Poetry Foundation’s Collection of Love Poems, I found an ee cummings’ poem that is delightful (and one of his more popular) [love is more thicker than forget]. The last stanza, which I particularly adore, provides perhaps a direct contradiction to Auden’s poem above:

it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky

Gorgeous, isn’t it? Most sane and sunly, just like love.

And on a roll, now, I turn to other poems that have often brought me comfort–haiku. I have a 20, probably more like 25 year old copy of Robert Hass translations of Japanese Haiku by Basho, Issa and Buson that I have always turned to for warmth and wisdom, and also a good laugh. Below I’ll sample a few poems for you.

     Having no talent,
I just want to sleep,
     you noisy birds.
                        --Basho

     The oak tree:
not interested
     in cherry blossoms.
                         --Basho

     Having reddened the plum blossoms,
the sunset attacks
     oaks and pines.
                         --Buson

     Don't worry, spiders,
I keep house
     casually.
                         --Issa

I just can’t get enough funny haiku. All of these except for one were already marked as favorites of mine. The 2nd haiku (oak trees: not interested) was a new fave for me. I think it speaks to me today as I am acutely aware that I’m coming up on another birthday that is bringing me perilously close to 50 years old. Soon I’ll only be sharing Japanese Death Poetry. But you know what? That might be better than mooning around on You-Know-What day being sad.