I visited some friends at the local bar as it was my last day. I didn't know a woman was sad to see me go. Her favorite flower is a sunflower she told me.
As I was talking small talk with the guys as much not to lead her on as much as just keeping it simple and happy and light as possible, she clearly looked irritated and left to go tend the bar. I went to check on her and she told me she was sorry and that she was having a rough day.
The physical attraction and intimacy never consummated i went on with my day. Strangely satisfied with an intimate moment with a beautiful woman who let me make her feel better when she had a bad day. Something that made all those other conversations mean something and something that was better than any small talk a guy could offer. A moment of recognition sensitivity and physical attraction that translated into something secret ethical and delicious.
Between adults thats what heterosexuality is.
Even in the best of times no man could give me what she gave me that day. What only a woman could give a man.
I have several friendships with magic like that, and none of those friendships demand anything more than what just is.
The reason i fell in love with Sylvia Plath was something different.
I was just going through a traumatic time in San Diego. Drugs and bad situations. A part of me astrally said that she should just expose me to her poetry so that I'd fall in love with her intellect and not her physical body. That the reason many men went gay is because of the mistaken belief that men were physical and that if a woman wanted a man to love her forever she could do so from an intellect that no man could offer.
Of course my vulnerability and pain didn't allow me to accept that i was doing that consciously. I was just a traumatized 20 year old kid at the time with a deeply well hidden genius. But I was still an insecure hurt young kid too. That my genius was there didnt make my humanity a lie. Both bits were real. I wanted her to see that.
Its important to know that no one is their genius. I was a 20 year old immature kid who just happened to have a genius quality and i wanted to stay close to my family. And i still do. Part of my education of Sylvia Plath has been to keep her from taking me from people i love. That when genius is objectified the people who do so commit a crime against humanity and against themselves.
But that also was to help her too. Like the Gwen Stefani song "In case you forgot no im not records on your shelf. Im still the original me."
I instructed her from a distance to expose me to her poetry. I learned that the teacher had a deal with her too. That poetry as a love for the reader is something a poet doesn't always have. My teacher taught me that if i imagined what i would feel reading the poem then i could find my humanity in the poem as long as i didn't try to impose that meaning on the author. That made everything i read filled with earth and created an immensely rich inner life that saved me from a lot of grief.
Which is why the article on stalking mentioned in armed with coffee blog a very acute point. Real literature lovers don't impose realities on authors by what they read in the text. They use every bit of literature available to create something beautiful for themselves.
When i read Sylvia Plath's work i found fun in it. I found incredibly dense perfect patterns that made me feel good about myself because my mind followed and understood much of the lessons that were written that enriched my life. As an example check out what I wrote about Sylvia Plath's poem "The Applicant."
I didn't just fall in love with her. I fell in love with literature in general. But I did fall in love with her because I do prefer her poetry to anyone elses and that hasn't changed. But I have learned to appreciate the poetry of others. I discovered that was so important to finding my own voice as an artist. I like happiness and nature and contentment. Much of this are themes in my poetry. What i especially admire about Sylvia Plath's work is that she proved that no matter what an artist is going through poetry is always beautiful if it's well written. No matter the subject or circumstance even if all that's left is a perfectly functional mind with nothing left.
Her poem line "This is the light of the mind. Cold and planetary" illustrated that point to me rather well. Many poets think that poetry did her in by being too honest but thats not the case. In that life she had nothing to lose and was done anyway. When she was raised from the dead somehow it proved that dedication to perfect artistic honesty saved her soul.
I started with only my mind and a dull degraded beginning with nothing but poetry.
Poetry doesn't wait for a beautiful life to be beautiful poetry. Beautiful poetry attracts and creates a beautiful life by assuming ones beautiful mind first in whatever landscape one is in.
This proves that poetry is about breaking through and contrary to what my poetry professor said it doesn't have anything to do with being recognized or published.
The very nature of poetry breaks a poet through and turns power over to the artist and away from publishers.
If one writes beautiful poetry and lives a quality life then success will come regardless.
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