Hoodie-Footies and hot chocolate? Perhaps on a desultory October evening when the leaves begin to fall. How about a candlelit dinner at (insert favorite splurgey restaurant) to commemorate who-knows-what? Oh God, don't you do that already? Well then, what about a (seashore, lakefront, storefront -- think Breakfast at Tiffany's) walk, followed by s'mores or a clambake, a bottle of Chateau Lafite or a can of Coke Zero? Kind of pedestrian, kind of anytime.
No, no, no, this is Valentine's Day, the holy day, of, in the immortal words of Kermit the Frog, lovers, dreamers and, um, me (and presumably, hopefully, for you as well). Mindful of Paul Valery's painfully-true contention that "Love is being stupid together," how about ten poems and ten paintings that celebrate the art of being stupid together? Come on, just this once.
The Ten Best Love Poems
Jan Van Eyck, "Arnolfini Marriage Portrait"(01 of10)
may i feel said he (e.e. cummings)may i feel said he(i'll squeal said shejust once said he)it's fun said she(may i touch said hehow much said shea lot said he)why not said she(let's go said henot too far said shewhat's too far said hewhere you are said she)may i stay said he(which way said shelike this said heif you kiss said shemay i move said heis it love said she)if you're willing said he(but you're killing said shebut it's life said hebut your wife said shenow said he)ow said she(tiptop said hedon't stop said sheoh no said he)go slow said she(cccome?said heummm said she)you're divine!said he(you are Mine said she)
Georges Seurat, "The Circus"(02 of10)
I Knew A Woman (Theodore Roethke) I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:The shapes a bright container can contain!Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,Or English poets who grew up on Greek(I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek.)How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and stand;She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin:I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,Coming behind her for her pretty sake(But what prodigious mowing did we make.)Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;She played it quick, she played it light and loose;My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;Her several parts could keep a pure repose,Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose(She moved in circles, and those circles moved.)Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:I'm martyr to a motion not my own;What's freedom for? To know eternity.I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.But who would count eternity in days?These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:(I measure time by how a body sways.)
Joan Miro, "The Farm"(03 of10)
For Una (Robinson Jeffers) I I built her a tower when I was young -Sometime she will die -I built it with my hands, I hung Stones in the sky. Old but still strong I climb the stone -Sometime she will die -Climb the steep rough steps alone, And weep in the sky. Never weep, never weep. II Never be astonished, dear. Expect change, Nothing is strange. We have seen the human race Capture all its dreams, All except peace. We have watched mankind like Christ Toil up and up, To be hanged at the top. No longer envying the birds, That ancient prayer for Wings granted: therefore The heavy sky over London Stallion-hoofed Falls on the roofs. These are the falling years, They will go deep, Never weep, never weep. With clear eyes explore the pit. Watch the great fall With religious awe. III It is not Europe alone that is falling Into blood and fire. Decline and fall have been dancing in all men%u2019s souls For a long while. Sometime at the last gasp comes peace To every soul. Never to mine until I find out and speak The things that I know. IV To-morrow I will take up that heavy poem again About Ferguson, deceived and jealous man Who bawled for the truth, the truth, and failed to endure Its first least gleam. That poem bores me, and I hope will bore Any sweet soul that reads it, being some ways My very self but mostly my antipodes; But having waved the heavy artillery to fire I must hammer on to an end. To-night, dear, Let's forget all that, that and the war, And enisle ourselves a little beyond time, You with this Irish whiskey, I with red wine While the stars go over the sleepless ocean, And sometime after midnight I'll pluck you a wreath Of chosen ones; we'll talk about love and death, Rock-solid themes, old and deep as the sea, Admit nothing more timely, nothing less real While the stars go over the timeless ocean, And when they vanish we'll have spent the night well.
Henri Rousseau, "Carnival Evening"(04 of10)
She Walks In Beauty (Lord Bryon)She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
Cristina Barroso, "Explorer's Map"(05 of10)
Difference (Stephen Vincent Benet)My mind's a map. A mad sea-captain drew it Under a flowing moon until he knew it; Winds with brass trumpets, puffy-cheeked as jugs, And states bright-patterned like Arabian rugs. "Here there be tygers."Here we buried Jim." Here is the strait where eyeless fishes swim About their buried idol, drowned so cold He weeps away his eyes in salt and gold. A country like the dark side of the moon, A cider-apple country, harsh and boon, A country savage as a chestnut-rind, A land of hungry sorcerers. Your mind? Your mind is water through an April night, A cherry-branch, plume-feathery with its white, A lavender as fragrant as your words, A room where Peace and Honor talk like birds, Sewing bright coins upon the tragic cloth Of heavy Fate, and Mockery, like a moth, Flutters and beats about those lovely things. You are the soul, enchanted with its wings, The single voice that raises up the dead To shake the pride of angels. I have said.
Lisa Adams, "Ineluctable"(06 of10)
Always for the First Time (Andre Breton)Always for the first timeHardly do I know you by sightYou return at some hour of the night to a house at an angle to my windowA wholly imaginary houseIt is there that from one second to the nextIn the inviolate darknessI anticipate once more the fascinating rift occurringThe one and only riftIn the facade and in my heartThe closer I come to youIn realityThe more the key sings at the door of the unknown roomWhere you appear alone before meAt first you coalesce entirely with the brightnessThe elusive angle of a curtainIt's a field of jasmine I gazed upon at dawn on a road in the vicinity of GrasseWith the diagonal slant of its girls pickingBehind them the dark falling wing of the plants stripped bareBefore them a T-square of dazzling lightThe curtain invisibly raisedIn a frenzy all the flowers swarm back inIt is you at grips with that too long hour never dim enough until sleepYou as though you could beThe same except that I shall perhaps never meet youYou pretend not to know I am watching youMarvelously I am no longer sure you knowYou idleness brings tears to my eyesA swarm of interpretations surrounds each of your gesturesIt's a honeydew huntThere are rocking chairs on a deck there are branches that may well scratch you in the forestThere are in a shop window in the rue Notre-Dame-de-LoretteTwo lovely crossed legs caught in long stockingsFlaring out in the center of a great white cloverThere is a silken ladder rolled out over the ivyThere isBy my leaning over the precipiceOf your presence and your absence in hopeless fusionMy finding the secretOf loving youAlways for the first time
Paul Gauguin, "Woman With Fruit"(07 of10)
The Song of Wandering Aengus (William Butler Yeats)I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire a-flame, But something rustled on the floor, And some one called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
Gustav Klimt, "The Kiss"(08 of10)
If I Could Tell You (W.H. Auden)Time will say nothing but I told you so,Time only knows the price we have to pay;If I could tell you I would let you know.If we should weep when clowns put on their show,If we should stumble when musicians play,Time will say nothing but I told you so.There are no fortunes to be told, although,Because I love you more than I can say,If I could tell you I would let you know.The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,There must be reasons why the leaves decay;Time will say nothing but I told you so.Perhaps the roses really want to grow,The vision seriously intends to stay;If I could tell you I would let you know.Suppose all the lions get up and go,And all the brooks and soldiers run away;Will Time say nothing but I told you so?If I could tell you I would let you know.
Amedeo Modligiani, "Jeanne Hebuterne"(09 of10)
Leaning Into The Afternoons (Pablo Neruda)Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad netstowards your oceanic eyes.There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames,its arms turning like a drowning man's.I send out red signals across your absent eyesthat move like the sea near a lighthouse.You keep only darkness, my distant female,from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad netsto that sea that beats on your marine eyes.The birds of night peck at the first starsthat flash like my soul when I love you.The night gallops on its shadowy mareshedding blue tassels over the land.
Jennifer Reeves, "Untitled (Wall and Trees)"(10 of10)
From far, from eve and morning (A.E. Housman)From far, from eve and morning And yon twelve-winded sky, The stuff of life to knit me Blew hither: here am I. Now-- for a breath I tarry Nor yet disperse apart-- Take my hand quick and tell me, What have you in your heart. Speak now, and I will answer; How shall I help you, say; Ere to the wind's twelve quarters I take my endless way.
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