Skip to main content

Poetry Sunday: Love Explained by Jennifer Michael Hecht

Love can be a mystery, a conundrum. It can addle the brain and make you stupid at times. It can even cause you to flip "the grammar of the spoken word" and make nonsensical comments. Jennifer Michael Hecht explains. 

Love Explained

by Jennifer Michael Hecht

Guy calls the doctor, says the wife’s   
contractions are five minutes apart.   
Doctor says, Is this her first child?
guy says, No, it’s her husband.

I promise to try to remember who   
I am. Wife gets up on one elbow,

says, I wanted to get married.   
It seemed a fulfillment of some

several things, a thing to be done.   
Even the diamond ring was some

thing like a quest, a thing they   
set you out to get and how insane

the quest is; how you have to turn   
it every way before you can even

think to seek it; this metaphysical   
refraining is in fact the quest. Who’d

have guessed? She sighs, I like   
the predictability of two, I like

my pleasures fully expected,   
when the expectation of them

grows patterned in its steady   
surprise. I’ve got my sweet

and tumble pat. Here on earth,   
I like to count upon a thing

like that. Thus explained   
the woman in contractions

to her lover holding on
the telephone for the doctor

to recover from this strange   
conversational turn. You say

you’re whom? It is a pleasure   
to meet you. She rolls her

eyes, but he’d once asked her   
Am I your first lover? and she’d   
said, Could be. Your face looks   
familiar. It’s the same type of

generative error. The grammar
of the spoken word will flip, let alone

the written, until something new is   
in us, and in our conversation.
Labels:

Comments

  1. David M. Gascoigne,February 7, 2021 at 6:48 AM

    I must pay more attention to these spoken gymnastics and see if I can come up with some original witticisms. But don't hold your breath waiting!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersFebruary 7, 2021 at 10:30 AM

      This one made me laugh out loud when I read it which was reason enough to feature it.

      Delete
  2. Brian JosephFebruary 7, 2021 at 10:32 AM

    Thanks for posting. I had never read this before. It is good verse .

    Love can indeed cause a lot if mental chaos.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersFebruary 7, 2021 at 10:34 AM

      It certainly caused chaos in the young father in the first stanza!

      Delete
  3. AlanaFebruary 7, 2021 at 11:11 AM

    I loved this take on an old joke. This was a fun poem.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersFebruary 7, 2021 at 11:53 AM

      We can all use a bit of humor in our lives, can't we?

      Delete
  4. Judy KruegerFebruary 7, 2021 at 11:57 AM

    The rhyming scheme itself was entertaining. The pandemic has brought to light some contractions at our house but we seem to have weathered them well.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersFebruary 7, 2021 at 12:48 PM

      It has changed all of our lives, in some ways even for the better, and perhaps made us understand that "this metaphysical refraining is in fact the quest," our quest.

      Delete
  5. The Butterfly ReaderFebruary 8, 2021 at 1:01 PM

    Never read this one before but I enjoyed it!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersFebruary 8, 2021 at 3:06 PM

      'Tis the season for love so it seemed like a good time to explain it!

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...
19 comments
Read more

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters!  Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...
6 comments
Read more

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...
24 comments
Read more