Grace Notes @ Snarkattack

At least three boys I know have told me they don’t believe love exists. One on good authority.

I’m starting to believe them, too.

Perhaps it’s just some fictional construct we make up to erase people’s limitless flaws. Or some convenient ‘intellectual’ explanation for the throbbings in nether regions.

Then, of course, I read a poem. Actually, two. One by Pablo Neruda which I’ve read before (I think this link will work).

And another by Mary Oliver. Guess what, it’s not about love between two humans at all. Surprise, surprise.

‘Little Dog’s Rhapsody in the Night (Percy Three)’ by Mary Oliver

He puts his cheek against mine
and makes small, expressive sounds.
And when I’m awake, or awake enough

he turns upside down, his four paws
in the air
and his eyes dark and fervent.

Tell me you love me, he says.

Tell me again.

Could there be a sweeter arrangement?
Over and over
he gets to ask it.
I get to tell.

With what I’ve read by Oliver, I either hate it, or love it. This I most definitely love. The last four lines are just sublime.

I miss my pussycat very much all of a sudden. I’ve got one right next to me at present but he doesn’t give out hugs very often. We very much have the Petrarchan dynamic going (I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but Wikipedia is failing me when I look for something to explain the dynamic of Petrarchan love…but the above Neruda poem with its discussion of fire/ice etc. owes a lot to Petrarch).