Why have a blog if I don’t use it?
Posted 28 November 2008on:
A dear friend has suggested the reason I’ve not blogged for a while is because I don’t have a life – I think she may be right, especially when the highlight of my life this week was my excitement at filling my tank up for just under £40.00 – albeit with the benefit of 5p off a litre from a Tesco coupon – reducing the price to under 90p… wow! At first I was so excited to see petrol go below £1.00 a litre and am always comparing prices in my neck of the wood to those of North London where my car seems to go on autopilot round the North Circular, but it’s still an extortionate price so, excuse the pun when I say, they still have us over a barrel.
I’m still doing book club and last month’s read was my choice. I’ve always loved the writing style of Isabel Allende and hoping my friends would share my taste, I resurrected an old fav of mine, The House of the Spirits. Allende’s writing is so colourful and this book moved at a fast pace through four generations. One character who plays no great part, but is alluded to, is called the Poet and he was probably based on Pablo Neruda whose work moves me so much. When I had my London~Love~Vincent blog I felt his following poems perfectly mirrored Robert E Howard’s highs and lows in his relationship with Novalynne. As many of you know, I love poetry and I love Vincent D’Onofrio and I love TWWW; I shall never waiver from my belief that Vincent’s portrayal of REH was his absolute uber-best performance.
Write, for example, “The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.”
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms. I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes?
Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer. My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees. We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses. Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
I do not love you except because I love you; I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you My heart moves from cold to fire.
I love you only because it’s you the one I love; I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.
Maybe January light will consume My heart with its cruel ray, stealing my key to true calm.
In this part of the story I am the one who Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you
Because I love you,
Love, in fire and blood.
Guess where I’ll be this time next week…