Another Love (that dare not speak its name)

[tectak]

Tom,

This is almost in IP, but not quite.

What is the point of love if not to shine
upon the loved; no heads turn now or op-
en eyed, with quickened breath and trilling pulse,
flush with the glow of hearts on fire and blood the fuel?

There are other lines that indicate a complete break in the line as the following:

"This is the greatest loss of all, when days with names we can’t recall
begin to count each night away, we best forget not just the days,"

Which appear to be eight foot lines when in reality are actually four lines of iambic tetrameter in rhyming couplets.

"This is the greatest loss of all,
when days with names we can’t recall
begin to count each night away,
we best forget not just the days,"


"This is the greatest loss of all" cannot help but recall "the greatest love of all", and becomes trite by association. maybe this is why it was covered up?

On the whole, this poem moves from a seven foot line up to nine foot lines which seem just a little absurd. It would aid the reading if these lines were shorter, and if possible broken into four and five foot lines respectively. I have found that if a line increases or decreases by no more than a foot, then the change is not generally disruptive to the reading. Such an approach should probably be considered here. Of course considering this writers propensity and fondness for overly burdensome lines, such advice, one assumes, will fall on deaf ears as it generally does.

What does the poem say using so many words and so heavy lines? It says the purpose of love is to shine on the beloved, except love cannot when it comes from an old fart and would go to a young tart, and so it is best to forget the whole thing. Evidently Tony Randell was unaware of this injunction; a failing in the bred and all men breed true. Old men are fools, but then so are all men when love is concerned. Old men are simply constrained by their supposed dignity from making fools of themselves over the young things that younger men make themselves fools over. Primarily I suppose, because of a much higher chance of being rebuffed as well as rebuked. Such are societal conventions that take no heed of reality, and thus is created irony. When what was once within our grasp, but is no more, we call this nostalgia. So is the poem ironically nostalgic? To answer in the contrivance of the writer, "Thus it seems but maybe not, so I'll be on my way!" And as the writer eventually quit rambling on about nothing, so shall I.

Best,

Dale

Hi Dale,
A little paralysis by analysis? Good on you. I need to see the other side of the moon occasionally...even though it usually too dark to be sure of anything.
I don't believe (any longer) in explanatory preambles but will add a post-script if the crits are feeling too involved. Sure, this is everyman's take on dimishing share but the conversation that mused this one out of its pustule was a pretty bombshell. The concept of missing the GIVING of love is more often than not attributed to long-term loneliness, whereas here we had a guy recently bereaved and skipping the norm of "no one loves me now" in favour of "shit, I have no one to shag"...I knew them both.
Shorter lines? I will try in the edit. Meter in this one is unfettered but the beast is still corralled, I feel...I try to say inside the fence but if I make a leap for freedom I am sure you will shoot me. Thanks for that.
Oh, and that "...greatest loss of all" line was never going to be "...greatest love of all" but I was irritated by the forethought...publish and be damned.
Best,
tectak
Edit 2 up.