Pleased To Meet You

the young poet

Hello, I'm Stephanie.  Most people call me Steph.  When I was about five I wrote my first poem.  I can remember sitting at the kitchen table, fat yellow pencil in my hand, waiting for my Mom to come home from her night job.  She liked my one line "poem", and I've been writing ever since.  Now I'd like to expand my audience with this blog.  Because I like making connections - people with places, ideas, experiences, each other.  This blog is me connecting with you, and you connecting with... let's see.

Writing and words are a passion.  Handwritten words on paper are magic to me.  I have kept every letter I've ever received.  Thousands of them.  They are bundled by year, tied with pretty ribbon, and stored in the basement.  My letter attachment is exceptional for me.  I can accumulate stuff with the best of them, but I have purged all my belongings multiple times - for moves to live in a small London flat, a tiny Manhattan sublet, and a minuscule Honolulu studio. None of my stuff was important enough to move and only a fraction was valuable enough to store - except for my letters.

My most precious possession is the collection of letters my Dad wrote me.  He always used a black, Flair, felt tip pen and yellow legal paper.  His script was strong, intelligent, and without flourish. Some letters had simple, fatherly requests, "Don't forget beer cans for the boys." - for my brothers' beer can collection.  Some included philosophical musings with quotes from "Silent Spring" by Rachel Carson, and inspirational leaders JFK and Mahatma Ghandi.  Some had both.  When I hold and read these old letters, I feel my Dad with me.  A little bit.  There's the magic.

Letters from my first grade teacher, Mrs. Terranova, and her assistant, Mrs. Edgar.  The notes are written phonetically, which is how I was taught to read and write.

Now that you know a little about me, let's talk about my blog.  I want to create a little magic for you.  I hope to surprise and delight you.  Surprise you with the recognition of yourself in something unexpected and possibly unknown.  Surprise finding your experience captured in words, and delight realizing your experience is larger than you alone. You are part of a community, the shared humanity to which we all belong.

I've chosen a poem to share with you called "The More Loving One" by W. H. Auden.  It spoke to me with its humor and wit, its plain language, and casual tone.  But, I also sensed a deeper feeling of hurt and disappointment underneath the almost breezy perspective on unrequited love.  That spoke to me too - making light of something painful, even when you don't really feel that way.  It's something we've all done.

"The More Loving One"

https://poets.org/poem/more-loving-one

The opening sets a contemporary, personal, and irreverent tone

"Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

That, for all they care, I can go to hell"

The next stanza asks the pivotal questions and then answers

"If equal affection cannot be,

Let the more loving one be me."

The last stanza is resolution or rationalization, depending on your point of view, 

"I should learn to look at an empty sky

And feel its total dark sublime,

Though this might take me a little time."

Unrequited love. So painful. But when I read this I didn't think of a lover, but rather about loving life.  And it not loving me back. Life certainly doesn't revolve around us. "Life goes on" is true whether we are speaking literally or metaphorically. It doesn't care.  Nevertheless, I do love life and I try to love it actively. Because sometimes it's just about showing up. Showing up feels better than not showing up. Because life's indifference isn't a snub, but maybe just playing hard to get. And because, sometimes, life can surprise and delight you.

Until we meet again, may you be well and happy