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Tag Archives: Writing

On Recognizing Love…

05 Sunday Sep 2010

Posted by stanfordblog in Photography, Reflections, Writing

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Emily Dickinson, Frederik Rubin, Love, Memoir, Photography, Pia Ulin, Writing

© Pia Ulin

Beauty is not caused. It is.
Emily Dickinson

Prompted by a discussion about the female romantic poets’ lives, my English professor told the class about an offer of marriage that she had received some years earlier. Her suitor had sworn his undying love and devotion  – saying she was the first woman he had ever truly loved. He was utterly devastated when she said she could not marry someone with such a limited capacity for love.

I wondered why she dismissed him on a quantitative versus qualitative measure? A person may fall in and out of love all the time – does that make him more predisposed to form a lasting relationship? I think not. Surely the depth of a love, the recognition that the person you love is the one is some predictor for a lasting relationship, I just do not know how one would measure it.

© Pia Ulin

Singer – Frederik Rubin

Bonfire…

01 Wednesday Sep 2010

Posted by stanfordblog in Art, Photography, Reflections, Writing

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beautiful, Beauty, Bonfire, Capitola State Beach, Dante, Memoir, Photography, Writing

© Joan Currie

Heat cannot be taken from fire, or beauty from the Eternal.
Dante

During the day few people stop to notice this bonfire, but at night it takes center stage for many types of gatherings. This weekend, the annual Burning Man event will take place in the Black Rock Desert, Nevada. The event notice prompted me to think about the bonfires of my youth.

My first exposure to bonfires was at a girls’ summer camp in northern Ontario, Canada. I remember the darkness of the night and being lulled into a dreamy state by the cinders dancing up and around in the hot flames – broken only by the occasional cracking sound, like that of a ringmaster’s whip. The counselors sang and played on their steel string guitars the melancholy tunes of Joni Mitchell, mostly from the Blue album. I’m Leaving on a Jet Plane was also a favorite that they played over and over again. Those sessions were pure magic and the lyrics of the songs are emblazoned in my memory forever.

Just as we are drawn to the bonfire, so are the beasts. There is a certain vulnerability when seated in a ring facing the fire with our backs exposed – an uneasiness about who or what is lurking in the shadows. Ghost storytellers know this and so did an older boy when, at a local bonfire pit, he delighted in recounting a gruesome tale about a green-eyed monster. To this day, the monster has a habit of rearing its ugly head when I am alone at night – walking along deserted streets, in the woods, or going down to the cellar. Sometimes the imagination fuels the fire even more…

Bittersweet: Love Letters…

19 Thursday Aug 2010

Posted by stanfordblog in Photography, Reflections

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Lauren DiMarco, Love, Love Letters, Marc Virata, Memoir, Patty Griffin, Writing

© Marc Virata

How hard would it have been to say some kinder words instead… Patty Griffin

Every now and then when I find myself alone on a Sunday afternoon I settle into my favorite wingback chair and place a jewel-encrusted box in my lap. In a ritualistic fashion, I reach inside and withdraw a bundle of letters held fast by a pale pink satin ribbon, untie it carefully and gently press open the pages of the first read.

Some of the letters are penned on elegant gold-edged stationary while others are on thin blue airmail sheets. They are manifestations of a sweet, naïve young love. Within the pages are poems of shameless yearning, devotion and imaginings of a world where all things seemed possible.

My fingers trace the tender words whose power has not paled over the years on reading after reading, rather they pull at my heartstrings more now than on first consideration. I truly appreciate the sentiments, knowing how rare and lovely a feeling it is to feel valued, prized – even worshipped.

I wonder how different my life today would have been if the spell of a particular suitor had not been broken. But broken it was and it is a pity that the lovely words memorialized here had been confined to these pages alone.

© Joan Currie – My Love Letters

Model – Lauren DiMarco

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