The Toughest of These To Write About is Love - Martin

A lot is written about love. A lot is said in the name of love. A lot — ah, but talk is cheap. Hallmark will gladly say it for you; that is, they’ll help you say what you think you are supposed to say. It’s tricky coming up with the right words, so we find ourselves in the greeting card aisle, eventually plugging our noses and selecting the least-tacky valentine’s card we can find. My personal favourite is the blank card, where you can simply say what you wanted to say in the first place. Don’t think that poets have it easier than others in this department. We’re supposed to always come up with just the right words; such an expectation is the world’s greatest source of writer’s block.

I believe that the toughest subject to write about is love. Another difficult topic is God — although, I suppose in one way, they are the same subject. Again, it’s hard to write about love, or God, because we think we know what we are supposed to say. We often opt for sentimentality, instead of carefully-thought-through perceptions. The Harlequin romance sings of the happily-ever-after in a world where every handsome prince becomes self-absorbed and bungles his role. The religious poet can wrap into a neat package what doesn’t honestly fit into a neat package. When it comes to love — just like with good writing — it’s the showing not the telling that really rings true.

Something that I have found works is to approach the subject indirectly, like native buffalo hunters sneaking up on a grazing herd. Here’s a love poem, I wrote for my wife, Gloria.

  As A Baker

            As a baker she’s a maker in a holy tradition   the daughter
of a farm daughter from Manitoulin   bringing delicacies to my mouth
            Her fingertips understand the transformation of flour   to 
dough   to flaky pastry   & how to stir my attention
            She makes music with raspberry & blueberry   with strawberry
rhubarb  & cherry   takes the humble apple   spy   cortland   mutsu & 
macintosh   & mystically   with perfectly unmeasured cinnamon   
bakes wonders
            She wakes my senses   makes sweet squares at Christmas 
brings forth fruit pies   cobblers & crisps   in season   or draws 
delicacies from the deep freeze   a large serving of summer   cooled a 
long age in winter’s deep well
            She shakes my appetites alive   with tastes & textures on my
tongue   For my sake she’ll shake & roll & sprinkle sweetness in her 
kitchen alchemy   She knows the way to a man’s stomach   is through 
his heart   making me receptive to all she has to bring   tuning my palate 
to her particular talents   developing my dependency on her presence   
her smile   her voice

I cannot pretend that I am always the husband God desires me to be, but I believe I got the words right — at least this once.

D.S. Martin is Music Critic for Christian Week; his new poetry book, Poiema (Wipf & Stock), and his chapbook So The Moon Would Not Be Swallowed are available at www.dsmartin.ca