The number of cheesy teddy bears, ugly balloons, and cheap chocolate I've seen and school has only just started. Ah yes, the bitter perfume of jealous, I wear it well, don't I? But really, I think my favorite part of Valentine's Day is remembering the real story of St. Valentine, looking at all these dumb boys who spent too much money on nothing, and being single and bitter. At least I can burn calories laughing when people ask me if I have a valentine.
For those unwashed masses who don't know, St. Valentine was a priest who practiced during the 3rd century. Emperor Claudius II decided that single men made better soldiers than those with wives and families, so he outlawed marriage for young men. Valentine, realizing the injustice of the decree, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret. When Valentine's actions were discovered, Claudius ordered that he be put to death. So Valentine's Day marriages, as schlocky as they are, make more sense than buying drug store chocolates in a box shaped like a heart. Over-sized teddy bears and shiny, foil balloons are an unnecessary commercialization of what could be a very beautiful holiday (granted people say that about Christmas, forgetting that it is, in fact, a completely commercial holiday, since Jesus was actually born sometime in March, and the committee that convened to decide on dates of important things for the Catholic Church, decided to move the birthday of their most important prophet to around the same time as the pagan celebration of Saturnalia, so that pagans who converted would feel some sense of familiarity with the new religion. Christmas is completely commercial, created to sell a religion).
However, it's fun to see the trappings of Valentine's Day all over the school. Girls hitting people in the face with their balloons ("accidentally" of course), eating their chocolates in class (not that they can share, of course), and cooing over the horrible cards their boyfriends got them ("Roses are red, violets are blue, this unoriginal, and so are you"). Wow, I really am bitter. I should probably either get a boyfriend, or give up on idea of love.
I do like the idea of looking at Valentine's Day as a celebration of love, rather than a bastardization of a simple holiday. We listened to Pablo Neruda poetry in creative writing the other day, and I was reminded why I love poetry. Poetry can make you feel things; it puts into words what you've felt but couldn't say. You are struck by the realization that you have felt what the poet is writing, but you didn't know it until now. Neruda's words flow and mesh and they connect into some of the most beautiful lines I've ever read. Except for John Keats, he's still my favorite.
Sure, one of his more famous poems, but let's break it down here. He's saying, basically, that he wishes he were a star, but not in the way that a star is removed, priest-like, and alone, forced to remain separated from the earth as one who takes a religious vow. Rather, he were a star in the way they are absolute and never-changing, so he could be a star, and exist forever on the bosom of the woman he loves, listening to her breathe (which is unnervingly beautiful. Wanting to listen to someone breathe sounds creepy, but actually comes off kind of sweet) and if he cannot be with her forever, he'd rather die. Like, damn, you go John Keats. You can be my bright star any day.
And now, to finish this post that had no direction and meandered everywhere, I will give you a small selection of my favorite valentines, thanks to the internet:
For those unwashed masses who don't know, St. Valentine was a priest who practiced during the 3rd century. Emperor Claudius II decided that single men made better soldiers than those with wives and families, so he outlawed marriage for young men. Valentine, realizing the injustice of the decree, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret. When Valentine's actions were discovered, Claudius ordered that he be put to death. So Valentine's Day marriages, as schlocky as they are, make more sense than buying drug store chocolates in a box shaped like a heart. Over-sized teddy bears and shiny, foil balloons are an unnecessary commercialization of what could be a very beautiful holiday (granted people say that about Christmas, forgetting that it is, in fact, a completely commercial holiday, since Jesus was actually born sometime in March, and the committee that convened to decide on dates of important things for the Catholic Church, decided to move the birthday of their most important prophet to around the same time as the pagan celebration of Saturnalia, so that pagans who converted would feel some sense of familiarity with the new religion. Christmas is completely commercial, created to sell a religion).
However, it's fun to see the trappings of Valentine's Day all over the school. Girls hitting people in the face with their balloons ("accidentally" of course), eating their chocolates in class (not that they can share, of course), and cooing over the horrible cards their boyfriends got them ("Roses are red, violets are blue, this unoriginal, and so are you"). Wow, I really am bitter. I should probably either get a boyfriend, or give up on idea of love.
I do like the idea of looking at Valentine's Day as a celebration of love, rather than a bastardization of a simple holiday. We listened to Pablo Neruda poetry in creative writing the other day, and I was reminded why I love poetry. Poetry can make you feel things; it puts into words what you've felt but couldn't say. You are struck by the realization that you have felt what the poet is writing, but you didn't know it until now. Neruda's words flow and mesh and they connect into some of the most beautiful lines I've ever read. Except for John Keats, he's still my favorite.
"O BLUSH not so! O blush not so!
Or I shall think you knowing;
And if you smile the blushing while,
Then maidenheads are going."
-"O Blush Not So" by John KeatsI mean, you think, because of the flowery language it's going to be a sweet, beautiful poem, but if you read it, it clearly says, "gurl, it looks like you and I are on the same page. If you keep looking at me like that, you gon' get the D." Shakespeare also writes like this, and that's why I have no patience for people who say they don't like poetry. It's because you don't know what you're reading or how to find exciting poetry. But if we're looking for romance, John still delivers.
"Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death."
-"Bright Star" by John Keats
Sure, one of his more famous poems, but let's break it down here. He's saying, basically, that he wishes he were a star, but not in the way that a star is removed, priest-like, and alone, forced to remain separated from the earth as one who takes a religious vow. Rather, he were a star in the way they are absolute and never-changing, so he could be a star, and exist forever on the bosom of the woman he loves, listening to her breathe (which is unnervingly beautiful. Wanting to listen to someone breathe sounds creepy, but actually comes off kind of sweet) and if he cannot be with her forever, he'd rather die. Like, damn, you go John Keats. You can be my bright star any day.
And now, to finish this post that had no direction and meandered everywhere, I will give you a small selection of my favorite valentines, thanks to the internet:
Pretty much my goal every Valentine's Day And my all time favorite:
Look, she even kind of looks like me! I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.- Pablo Neruda, "Love Sonnet XVII"
