Friday, June 15, 2007

The bluebeard of happiness: Will love find a way?

There are two things I miss after surviving a life accident.

1) My poor brain.
2) Being in love.

The brain seems to be recovering somewhat, but one is not in love, even if a formely beloved has come down to give you cuddle and the promise of more visits. You are not in love.

Limbo.
Friggin' drag.

How magical, how nice to be in love, the beloved seemingly winged and out of the sky, divine airline stewardess/steward
come to rescue you from this world of dross and limbo, where you know every day is the same, and unlike Murray McLachlin, you are not "washed by the whisperin' rain."

Poetic Murray McLachlin:

I will stare like a gypsy
Into the sky
And the moonlight will search into my eyes
'Til the strangest sound is my own name
All inside me is the whispering rain

All the songs that sigh among the trees
All the time that brings you to your knees
People helpless when love came
Lost in the whispering rain

....................

In spring, an old man's fancy turns to thoughts of revenge.

You know the therapist's mantra: If you love something, let it go. If it loves you it will come back to you; if it doesn't, it was not yours in the first place.

The biker's response: If you love something, let it go. If it loves you, it will come back to you.

If it doesn't, hunt it down and kill it.


Well, being a hunter-gatherer these past thirty years, I have seen love come and go, mostly go, but it's when you lose seriously at love that the biker's way seems most attractive.

Some gorgeous blonde made a fool of me. Got married to this guy right under my nose; under the nose of her poor husband too, that poor fool so busy outfitting and servicing his mistress.

I hounded that poor couple until they were both half-mad and finally separated. Now that she is in the clear, I don't want her; don't trust her.

Back into the more distant past, I caught my wife with a lover (myself being no saint) and once I had him on the floor, proceeded to dust his timepiece...Good thing he was a little guy like me, otherwise it would have been me with the bruises.

My mother used to say: "Look at those two fools. The woman stands by, demure, while they try to kill each other."

All that gorilla chest-thumping aside, it is truly wonderful to be in love.

The universe suddenly makes sense.

Love lifts us up where we belong
Where the eagles cry
On a mountain high

....Come to think of it, there is something gorilla-like in Joe Cocker's movements.


Yet, to be in love.

One is whimsical and a little shy. You walk on a rainbow of happiness. Inexplainably, you might burst into tears.

What if the beloved were to ever leave you? What if Lucy should be dead? What if you unexpectedly get a Dear John?

Make me an angel
That flies from Montgomery
Make me a poster
Of an old rodeo
Just give me one thing
That I can hold onto
To believe in this livin'
Is such a hard way to go

................

Make me an angel out of that sheet of paper.
Make me a cut-out doll.
But for god's sake, don't make it a Dear John.


"The woman is a dustmop," friends say. "What do you see in her?"

But that is my dirty dustmop. That is my chunk of s..t. That is what I want.


A man will chase a woman for twenty years, without hardly getting anything from her.

Then she becomes available.
And like Flaubert with his Louise Collette, the man will run away.

Ah, echoes of Flaubert and Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky you can belive, because he had been married twice.

I do believe old Fyodor's first wife was thrown off by his trembling lips and chin and tendency to take fits.

I think my own poor wife was thrown off by my nuttiness.

Ah, but there is still in us the fuse that drives the flower.

Always searching.

There is always hope.

Even though you have been bad news for women for such a long time.

Ah, like that Mandala song.

Love-itis.

12 comments:

Josie said...

Ah... yes.

http://www.creativewriting.ca said...

Control yourself. :)

Ivan

Donnetta Lee said...

Ah, love. It doth make you crazy.

I love the picture. Believe it or not, I have that very "swim suit cover up". The sorority sisters here in Florida each had one for a skit we were doing at an international get together.

As Josie says, Ah...yes.

Donnetta

islandgrovepress said...

I've got poor research skills these days.

Looking for the lyrics to "Love-itis" by a Sixties Toronto group, Mandala. Can't find lyrics or tabs.

Just have to improvise:

Went to my doctor
For him to have a look
Said the trouble with you
Ain't in this book

Love-itis got a hold on you!

Got a hold on a lot of us.

Ivan

Josie said...

I absolutely love, love, love Murray McLachlan.

isalandgrovepress said...

Josie,

When I first heard Whisperin' Rain I had to pull the car over.
Dammn. This was love's way!

Caught a lot of Murray's concerts later at Ontario Place. He is a wonderful performer and terrific on his piano...And he jumps around, when doing, I think,the Kensington Market song.
Good Toronto boy.

Ivan

Josie said...

I once saw Murray McLachlan at a little folk singer's club here on Fourth Avenue in Vancouver. I was six feet away from him the whole time. I LOVED his voice.

leslie said...

I sometimes wonder it it's really "love" or the "idea" of it. Sometimes I get into that mood and have to force myself to snap out of it - be more realistic in that the odds are against me now at this time of my life.

leslie said...

But it is nice to remember when...

islandgrovepress said...

Leslie,
That is really a key question.
Is it really "love" or the "idea" of it.
I once chased a woman who looked like a Hollywood starlet--for years and years. Things got very close to the authorities being involved.
Said the chief of police, who actually happened to be my friend, "It's not S., it's the idea of S."

She represented glamour, danger--a B-girl, the kind of woman Hollywood conditioned me to find desirable...Lauren Bacall, I suppose, and I was Humphrey Bogart, the PI.
...This fantasy seems common among writers.
...And maybe Miss S. knew it.

I was certainly doing the Professor and the Blue Angel theme.
(You'd be too young for the old Blue Angel movie, but poor old Professor Rach--
forced to put on the clown suit, the red bulbous nose-- and told to crow like a rooster on stage while Marlene Dietrich was making it with somebody else).

Actually, with me, art really began to imitate life.
Maybe I'd just met a woman smarter and more manipulative than myself.
...She was a student of mine, and for a long time, did the tail ever wag the dog!
I'm probably not the first prof she'd flummoxed.
Had to re-read my copy of Great Expectations to get even close to a clue as to my situation.

Ivan

islandgrovepress said...

Never too late, Leslie.

I was 59, living in a car, no prospects and some woman came over and asked me if it would be too much of a bother for me to make love to her :-)

Heh. I'm not recommending that you should take up residence in an old car, but that's the way it worked out for me at that time.

You never know.
Love hides in the strangest places.
...I was subsequently picked up by an 81-year-old woman.

...Maybe I'm too easily led! :)

Stupid Cupid seems to have no bounds!

Ivan

http://www.creativewriting.ca said...

Josie,

Isn't the guy fascinating?

Sort of leprechaunish with the beard, but some sort of musical genius all the same.

Ivan