What is this thing called love?
A poem written by Dorothy from a love session at Aston Community Church & 'First Kiss' Kim Addonizio.
Last week, I spent the day asking members of the Aston Community Church (a church of the people, for the people, and by the people) - What is this thing called love?
Many of them elders, and rather put off having a poet visit them during their weekly coffee, chat, raffle, domino, bingo and sermon, all I could do was be present, read poems, and ask them to teach me of love.
Reluctant to write out of fear of the elite nature of poetry, that its ‘not for us’, the condition you must be of a higher class or la-de-da to read or write, or perhaps not wanting anyone to disrupt their social routine, I scribed their answers as we spoke of love, and wrote poems on their behalf. It didn’t take much convincing to get them into the poems once they realised they could use the time to reminisce and had an eager ear in me.
I tend to do this work in the community. Hold spaces for reading and reflection and scribe for those afraid to write. Once I type out their words, or hear their attempts, I experience a wave of purpose, like I am doing exactly what I should be doing. It’s funny how surprised they are in feeling good and happy afterwards. How their speech naturally finds a rhythm once I’ve pieced their thoughts together on the page. I do also really enjoy the smug feeling of 'I told you you'd like it didn't I?' once we're done.
“love dem // anywey tru it.”
This is word for word what Dorothy said to me. I’ve tried my best to capture her accent as its true to her voice. Whether you are religious or not, the essence of love is simple and so present in this poem.
Love is ‘ugs and kisses
talkin’ to dem children,
what dem should do.
Tell dem of the Lord,
put Him first
in evrytin dem do.
Dey, dem children,
dem friends, I tell dem
I love dem with words
an affection - even
when what dey done is wrong.
Tell dem dat it’s wrong
to do like dat, but love dem
anywey tru it.
Well, a memory of love?
Let me tell a memory of love.
We have a birt’dey,
and a born baby, and after,
baby start to crawl about
and start to smile,
and start mek der own
‘ikkle noise, and we juss ’ug them.
Well, a memory of love I av
is my great-granddaughter
when she com sey on holidey
‘Granma Dorothy, I really love yu
yu know?’ an I say ‘tank you darlin,
me love yu so much’.
Then love as a ting or sound or place;
a ripe mango, all soft an sweet
a Welsh male choir, strong an soothin;
a ring, or necklace as a symbol of lovin me,
a photograph of family, a good teacher
to tell yu juss do the bess yu can
yu know? To remember love is God
an dat God is love.
Dorothy Martin.
Connected to Kim Addonizio
I’ve recently started reading her work. What was consistent in peoples response to the feeling of love at the church was references to new born baby’s, marraige, and children.
It reminded me of this poem, which I love.
My Love, It’s how you look at me. How you come over love-drunk, that I am your only drink, in the parting and communion of our kiss.
Prompt
tell me a memory of love
an object of love
a scent, a sight, a texture of love
tell me how you abandon your need to be loved
how do you feel loved?
if you do not know it, see if you can write the sensation of love in your body.