SWEET TALK, Love Email, 7

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SWEET TALK, Love Email, 7


Dear Etta,


I received your last letter and its tone and the description of your life at home pleased me. There is something wonderfully down to earth about you. I loved the story about your mother’s Monday night escapade when a huge storm blew in over the pennisula. Your mom ran outside in her nightgown to cover the cucumber plants, using an old sheet to protect them. You wrote that she worries about everything, even cucumbers! Then you went on to recount that her behavior the night of the storm probably had something to do with your father, his being very dedicated to the care of the cucumber patch. Sadly, though today you say it brings a smile upon your face, you continued that the day before your father died, he had told your mother his dream story about cucumbers standing in line in your garden holding individual name plaques. My father, too, truly enjoyed his gardening, but his great pleasure was his cultivation of roses.

I write, what wonder India, true glory of human civilization rests in its color, languages and people. Yet wherever I go, I must bring along my own particular brand of me. Truthfully, despite the relative luxury and the privileged which had been mine most of my life, and the current wonder of weather and environment, I make myself wildly busy. For all intents and purposes I am not much different from the guy who sat for hours on hard wood chairs scribbling away under the reading room lights at the tables of the New York Public Library. In the end, even when I survey the spectacle of the beaches of Goa, I am in my own head, disturbed by vainglory and ambition. You know me, hey, girlfriend! Going on with the truth of the matter, I would be pretty much the same guy in Denmark as I am here in India as I was the guy at the desk in my parents' hardware store in northern Illinois. Excuse me. Let's not get too romantic. Of course, I would not want to shiver in me feet because I had to save the bucks on heat during one of your famous, northern-European cold snaps. Well nobody is perfect.

I have been thinking of my own dad lately, particularly as he had to deal with me as I must deal with my own son in all the varied circumstances of his and my own life. My dad was not good with the dollar, yet how well-off he ended up in the last decade of his life still astonishes me, though I am not sure his influence on me in terms of basic economics should be merited. Still, he infused me with confidence and set for me the example to learn and then to appreciate the wonder of the arts and the sciences and the lovely things of this world. Though he had traveled a good bit during his life, he never visited Denmark or India. I am sure that he would have relished the experience had he in his life the opportunity to visit both these two nations.

Glad your mother’s back remains on the mend.


Love, S.



SWEET TALK


Out in Arizona my Dad grew roses.
He embraced the great merit,
Loved to say,
How he enjoyed cultivating his own garden.

That spot he tended along side the house,
It was the love of his retirement.

I saw those roses disporting,
Performing and they were real pretty,
Showing off their tightly petaled spiraling centers.
Seems they climbed the trellises just to flaunt their colors,
White and red, yellow, even some of golden orange.

This time I’ll proclaim my sentiment aloud,
Make it absolutely clear for one and all to hear.
They never flowered like you.
No! They never looked the way
You looked tonight, darling.

Surely some may find this verse coy,
No more than borrowed phrase and imagery,
Notions common in the language of the heart,
Yet I swear to it. I tell the truth,
The same as if I stood in court of law
My right hand raised, the left upon the Holy Book.

Would you accept my plight?
These my words which are here and now before you
Knowingly welcome the risk of eternal perdition.
Figure my flattery, a very special gift --My terms of endearment, honest and sincere. 

TU, SOLO TU, Love Email, 2

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TU, SOLO TU,
Love Email, 2

Dearest Etta,

I just got off the phone with you. We only spoke a few words but that was enough to totally transport me. Now it seems I am totally verruckt gegangen, wildly elated, dreaming impossible dreams, and in dire need of that balm that only your immediate, physical presence may provide.


I know of a cancion ranchera, a genre loosely translated as Cowboy Song, written by Felipe Valdez Leal in the late 1930's. The song's first stanza:

Miro como ando mujer
Por to querer
Borracho y apasionado
No mas por tu amor

Look at how I'm going around (spinning), woman
Because of your love
Drunk and impassioned
Only for your love.

It may seem small consolation, but when I recite these few lines back to myself and now, also, to you, it reminds me that I am by no means the first to experience such elation. The thought of pistol-packing caballero dizzily in love returns me the universality of my feelings for you. My love for you is another chapter in the long history of a man under the spell of woman.

There we are. All is under proper perspective, and I'm cured.

Seriously, no matter how gaga I have become over you I want to reaffirm some solemn pledges. You are always free to go your own way. I will always respect your decision. Though I may beseech, beg you to do otherwise, I will ultimately prove my true, absolute regard for you and your feelings by honoring your wishes.

So long as we are together you may expect a life free from anger, reproach, or resentment. I will always be honest with you. You may expect nothing but the truth from me, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Of course, I expect the same from you, the truth, that is.

I expect that you and I will always honor our word. As you know already no one person may promise eternal love, love forever. But regarding conduct, one person toward the next, the absolute correspondence between what we say and then what we do, that remains within the realm of human control. The giving any keeping of our word, one toward the other, is the single most important aspect of any human relationship.

If things do not work out for the best, you may believe me when I say I will absent my self from the situation. I shall utterly separate my self from you.

You may also believe me when I say I have some idea of who you are and, though I well know that nothing is easy in human relationships, I feel I have the patience and in this case the maturity to insure, and, in time increase your happiness and well being.

I will always put your life before mine. Etta, please, forgive the dramatics, but I know no other way to put it: Etta, I would die for you.

In the first days of our making the rounds, you asked me if I was always so easy going. I answered affirmatively. Please do not take me for a fool, but I find being by your side easy going indeed!

I remain yours,


S.

THE PARABLE OF THE TALKING FROG, Love Email, 6

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THE PARABLE OF THE TALKING FROG,
Love Email, 6

My Dear Etta,

Having a beautiful woman on one’s arm is no small treasure, to be sure. Many men aspire to have such a trophy in their life; it strengthens their vanity, and makes them look important in other people's eyes and puffs up their pride. My being with you had similar impact on my personality. Your beauty, darling, has had the effect of further swelling and already swollen head. Yet allow me this story, or parable that I once heard.

There was an elderly Swedish university professor. In addition to his teaching responsibilities, he was a medical doctor. He was wise and very learned. He had spent many years at study and his students held him in high esteem. Everyone considered him a good man and turned to him for advice on proper conduct. Through his knowledge of medicine and strength of his experience he had saved many lives. Many regarded him as having a power of example. Although his tenure lasted almost to the end of the twentieth century, his dress was old-fashioned. He wore an long, black coat, a frock even during the summer.

One day when he was walking through woods outside his university somewhere in Sweden, he noticed a frog frantically hopping about his feet. When he stopped to observe this frog, he was startled. He believed he might be hearing that the animal, that the frog was speaking to him. The voice was tiny and barely audible. He picked up the frog and gave it the pedestal of his flattened hand. Sure enough the frog was speaking to him, and, when the Doctor lifted his hand closer to his hearing, he heard the frog. Its vocalization was feminine and clearly pleading, "Kiss me! Kiss me! I am a beautiful princess! A jealous sorcerer cursed me into this animal form, because I had refused his advances. If you kiss me, I shall be transformed back to my original human shape. I am a beauty, a princess! If you kiss me, I shall be yours. I shall love you forever."

When the Doctor hesitated to implant the kiss, and instead began to ponder the situation, the frog repeated the refrain in the sweetest, most heart rendering supplication. But the

Doctor simply placed the frog into his long coat's side pocket. He then carefully secured the pocket's flap.

The Doctor proceeded down the path, but he could still hear the frog's pleas. Over and again. he could hear the frog, though its voice was muffled as it emerged from his pocket. The frog sorrowfully continued, “Kiss me! Kiss me!” And again, “Kiss me! Kiss me! I am a beautiful princess! A sorcerer, mad because I rejected his advances, cursed me into this awful shape. If you kiss me I shall be transformed back to my original human shape. I am beautiful. If you kiss me, I shall be yours. I shall l love you forever.”

Finally the Doctor stopped. He removed the frog from his frock's pocket and, before the frog could again return its earnest petition, he said.“Frankly,” he said to the frog, which was now in his hand and facing his face, "at this stage of my life, I must insist, I would rather have a talking frog!" He repeated his estimation, although, as he said it, greater resolve appeared in his voice: “Yes, at this stage of my life, I would rather have a talking frog!"

He then returned the frog to his coat's pocket, carefully secured the flap, and continued down the path back to the university.

He was wise and very learned. He had spent many years at library study and at his medical practice. He was a professor at the university. Everyone considered him righteous and turned to him for advice on proper conduct. Through his practice of medicine and his strength of character he had saved many lives.

I am most truly yours, S

WINTER LOVE MELANCHOLY, Love Email, 5

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WINTER LOVE MELANCHOLY, 
Love Email, 5,
Originally composed, 8 January 2008


Dear Etta,

Forgive me. I write, while I wear my heart on my sleeve. The Holidays have come and gone, and the last few days have been ice and wind.

I have no idea what the future holds.

I think of you often. Now we have been apart for three long months. I am anticipating your return home and into my arms again, but have some trepidation because I surely can not read your mind nor really know that you will keep your word.

Still I keep your memory vital. Your voice resides in my ears. The picture of your loveliness is in my mind today, fresh. That image remains the same today as it was yesterday, when I had thought about you throughout the hours, and the same as it was the day before, and so many of the other days, the other days which had gone before yesterday.

I write this poem for you.
WINTER LOVE MELANCHOLY


The seabirds cry by the sea,
Their songs are sad,
Their refrains freight my melancholy.

And in the distance a fog horn,
It, too, sounds a plaintive note;
It repeatedly revives my sorrow.

There is a damp, hard, winter wind.
It beats on me, causes terrible chill.

The nights remain very long;
I fear that I may have lost forever 
The memory of how the summer sun warms. 

And now my mind succumbs to the foreboding;
Oh I dread that I might never kiss you again!


I hope to have you here with me, again, shortly, your warmth in my arms, your smile illuminating the depths of my bosom, and the rooms of our house once more.

I am very truly yours, S.

HOW DO I LOVE THEE? …, Love Email, 4

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HOW DO I LOVE THEE? …
Love Email, 4


Dear Etta,

I look at my desk calendar, and see that last week at this time I was eagerly awaiting your return from abroad. Tonight I am alone again. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy my empty bed. I will always remember that last night together at the airport Ramada. I slept well, so especially content and warmed all over by your flesh, by our lying there the night side by side. And when you awoke me ten minutes early that I might still further enjoy the pleasure of your company, I felt as though I had slipped through earthly constraints and entered into a realm that heathen people imagined as paradisiacal. I love the time I had spent with you from that first rainy Thursday date to that final parting kiss at departure gate security.


Now the prospect of your upcoming surgery, it moves to the front of my thoughts. I only wish that whatever the pain or discomfort, I wish that it might be visited upon me instead of you.

Although this Victorian era poems starts trite, a wee-bit ho hum, I believe it adequately describes the nature of love, one person for another.

How Do I Love Thee?
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Good night, Darling. In a few hours I'm traveling for business. After I check the vendors at those Western New Jersey markets, I shall start the search for a new house or apartment.

Yours, S.

LOVE HURTS, Love Email, 3

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LOVE HURTS,
Love Email, 3

Dearest Etta,


I got off the telephone with you about an hour or so ago, and once again a flood of memories and feelings beset me. Our long distance and our long time apart may be the end of me. Poor me! Poor me! Honest, it is very hard for me to pretend I am grown up, a man about this whole separation business. I feel alone. I am more like a child. I suffer terrible separation anxiety. Right this moment I want to scream aloud, and, if it would do me any good at all, I would. I would scream aloud in pain.


Also, I am having a physical reaction. Juices are being released in my stomach, which never happens to me even when I am hungry. This is not just my imagination. No! I am physically afflicted. Longing for you, just to be near to you, causes me ache even in my forearms. My elbows hurt. I swear I feel the ache of this profound longing even in the calves of my legs, in my knee caps. I know you believe me to be exaggerating, but it's true, darling. It is true! I am now in the middle of some devil angst.

Last night I had another bad spell, very bad. I felt an exhaustion overcome me. I lay down in the bed right off my office area, and almost curled up in a ball. I was in the fetal position. I began to swoon. If only I could come up against you. I need only your body warmth. I need only to be up over and against you.

Playing on the TV set at the bottom of the bed was a PBS special, which now had a segment about the Warsaw Ghetto. I did not actually see the video portion, but the mournful sounds, oh, the so sad background music, matched my interior mood. How's that for big-time sacrilege, down right sinful! It is a terrible comparison, I know. I have no right making it. But I try to portray the mood, the dark-cloud mood over me. My pain over missing you tied to the agony of tens of thousands souls living in Hell and then about to be transported to an absolute Hell. Now you know, sweet heart! Now you know! Now you have a glimpse of the pain I am in. I am truly a lost soul.

Yours, S.

TU, SOLO TU, Love Email 2

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TU, SOLO TU,
Love Email, 2

Dearest Etta,

I just got off the phone with you. We only spoke a few words but that was enough to totally transport me. Now it seems I am totally verruckt gegangen, wildly elated, dreaming impossible dreams, and in dire need of that balm that only your immediate, physical presence may provide.

I know of a cancion ranchera, a genre loosely translated as Cowboy Song, written by Felipe Valdez Leal in the late 1930's. The song's first stanza:

Miro como ando mujer
Por to querer
Borracho y apasionado
No mas por tu amor

Look at how I'm going around (spinning), woman
Because of your love
Drunk and impassioned
Only for your love.

It may seem small consolation, but when I recite these few lines back to myself and now, also, to you, it reminds me that I am by no means the first to experience such elation. The thought of pistol-packing caballero dizzily in love returns me the universality of my feelings for you. My love for you is another chapter in the long history of a man under the spell of woman.

There we are. All is under proper perspective, and I'm cured.

Seriously, no matter how gaga I have become over you I want to reaffirm some solemn pledges. You are always free to go your own way. I will always respect your decision. Though I may beseech, beg you to do otherwise, I will ultimately prove my true, absolute regard for you and your feelings by honoring your wishes.

So long as we are together you may expect a life free from anger, reproach, or resentment. I will always be honest with you. You may expect nothing but the truth from me, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Of course, I expect the same from you, the truth, that is.

I expect that you and I will always honor our word. As you know already no one person may promise eternal love, love forever. But regarding conduct, one person toward the next, the absolute correspondence between what we say and then what we do, that remains within the realm of human control. The giving any keeping of our word, one toward the other, is the single most important aspect of any human relationship.

If things do not work out for the best, you may believe me when I say I will absent my self from the situation. I shall utterly separate my self from you.

You may also believe me when I say I have some idea of who you are and, though I well know that nothing is easy in human relationships, I feel I have the patience and in this case the maturity to insure, and, in time increase your happiness and well being.

I will always put your life before mine. Etta, please, forgive the dramatics, but I know no other way to put it: Etta, I would die for you.

In the first days of our making the rounds, you asked me if I was always so easy going. I answered affirmatively. Please do not take me for a fool, but I find being by your side easy going indeed!

I remain yours,

S.