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Unread 04-24-2017, 04:38 PM
William A. Baurle William A. Baurle is offline
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Location: Arizona, USA
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Certainly, some old geezer panting beneath a young girl's window doesn't paint a very pretty picture, does it? Obviously, in that case - though I agree with Richard that the poem has deeper meaning - the old coot is acting like a creep, though I don't know if I'd consider his behavior predatorial. Predators seek out unwilling victims, while this speaker is seeking consent, though in his wheezy, creepy way.

And I would think anyone with a brain larger than a pea realizes that the young and beautiful prefer the attractions of the young and beautiful?

I think, Julie, that you're failing to make a crucial distinction between love and sexual appetite. If we're going to talk about love poems, then I assume we mean poems written in passion, about a feeling of love for the beloved? Being in love with someone is far more than simply desiring physical intimacy with them. When you love someone, everything about them is rewarding. Their very presence is rewarding, and being apart from them is painful: not because you can't have sex with them, but because their absence is painful. Of course you know this. And I think anyone who posts on this BB knows that. But it bears mentioning.

My reading has been fairly extensive when it comes to poetry, and I can't think of a great deal of love poetry by someone much older seeking a much younger lover, at least not off the top of my head, though no doubt I could find it if I were to look for it.

Think of the Elizabethans, just as an example, when amorous love poetry was so common and ubiquitous: Shakespeare, Sidney, Marlowe, and dozens of others. Sidney wrote one of the greatest, and most passionate, sonnet sequences in English, and he died at 31. Not exactly some pathetic old codger with a case of the hots.

I'll cite one of my favorite poems by Sidney, which I've cited elsewhere:

Astrophel and Stella

LIV


Because I breathe not love to every one,
Nor do not use set colours for to wear,
Nor nourish special locks of vowèd hair,
Nor give each speech a full point of a groan,
The courtly nymphs, acquainted with the moan
Of them which in their lips Love's standard bear,
"What, he!" say they of me; "now I dare swear
He cannot love; no, no, let him alone."
And think so still, so Stella know my mind!
Profess, indeed, I do not Cupid's art;
But you, fair maids, at length this true shall find,
That his right badge is worn but in the heart.
Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do lovers prove;
They love indeed who quake to say they love.

***

It was also fashionable, not only among the English poets, but those of other nationalities, to give the beloved a different name, and a very common theme is the author or narrator keeping his/her feelings a secret, for fear of giving offense. This, however, especially nowadays, is viewed as being creepy also. And that's the thing that bothers me.

I don't give a fig if people call out some fool for stalking someone, or for being overly obsessed or fixated on another person - and they especially deserve to be called out if they are acting on their obsession and becoming a nuisance. What I object to is calling someone creepy, or predatorial, simply for having unreturned feelings for another person and expressing that pain in some way, be it in music or poetry, or some other art.

And yes, there is a lot of sexual frustration in the world, but that's a part of being human, more so in some people than in others. We can't all be outgoing, socially apt individuals. Some of us are painfully shy and socially inept, and we're not out to hurt anyone. Well, not all of us, and probably only a relative few of these types are actually a threat to others. If anything, we make a fetish of suffering, and make art out of it - which comes across to others as wrongheaded, and even creepy. I've written only a small handful of poems about my feelings of unrequited love (and posted one here, which went over well), because of the very real concern I have when it comes to expressing those feelings in a way that won't come across as creepy. By and large, I've kept my sexual feelings to myself as a poet, though I've funneled a good deal of my pain into my song lyrics and fiction - and various places online.

Good or bad art, IMO, depends on the nature of the expression of those feelings of frustration and longing for intimacy. It requires delicacy and care, and good taste. Some people got it, some don't.

Last edited by William A. Baurle; 04-24-2017 at 04:55 PM.
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