Monday, March 23, 2009

Impossible Love




I can't stand the rain

I can't stand the rain
Against my window
Bringing back sweet memories
I can't stand the rain
Against my window
Because he's not here with me

Hey window pane
Do you remember
How sweet it used to be
When we were together
Everything was so grand
Now that we've parted
There's one sound
that I just can't stand



It is cold and rainy here today. As a mom, you have to part the curtains and tell your kid how we need the rain and to be happy for it. You have to. It's part of the contract. Alhumdulillah, into every life some rain must fall.

There's something so sad in reading the news that Slyvia Plath's son ended his life. Her sadness reached from a London flat to the wilderness of Alaska. He had run so far away from his mother's death. He had not been able to jump out that open window, which she had left open to prevent him from dying with her that day in 1963. This time, he jumped downward and let the grip of his mother's grim genius grab hold of him in an embrace which killed.

Does it even matter what his name was? Does it matter the work he did? His career path was so simmilar to my father's. He loved and cared for the world and yet the world wasn't enough for him.

Subhanallah. Inna lillahi wa inna ilahi rajioon. From Allah we come and to Allah we return.

I had to learn more about his stepmother, who I never knew about. I never did. It wasn't just that a tragic woman killed herself. It was the beginning of an epic Greek tragedy where the mother, the mistress, the bastard child, and now the abandoned son all scattered the stage.
Subhanallah. Inna lillahi wa inna ilahi rajioon. From Allah we come and to Allah we return. May Allah have mercy on all their souls.

The name of the book which discusses Assia, the much maligned who couldn't live in a ghost's shadow, is "The Lover of Unreason."

She was, indeed, beautiful and striking in the way that all clambering whores are. She was a whore to the core. She was. And I have a kind of love for her, as I always have for women who don't understand their worth without a man. She was a Marilyn Monroe for the literary set.

She wanted the impossible love. She left Nazi Germany in search of a protector who could excite her need for new and exiting. The story of a blade of grass dipped in Dior shows her romantic yearning to create the ideal coupling of modern day star-crossed lovers.

And they suffered. She knew that Sylvia and the children would suffer. She just didn't know how she and her unborn child and then later her only offspring would suffer. She didn't realize that when a husband marries his mistress he creates a job opening. Except, her man was crafty. He hadn't even married her! That's what messed her up. She might have thought he'd cheat on her once she was his wife, but hadn't counted on him going behind her back while they were still adulterers.

It's so sordid. So horrible. I'm drawn to the tale which makes a delicious read until you get to the part about Shura and now Nicholas (oh, yes, that was his name), and the only survivor, Frieda.
May Allah protect her.

"When two elephants fight, it's the grass that gets trampled," is a oft-quoted African wisdom.
You could also say, "When two elephants make love, it's the grass that gets trampled."
We, as women, need to be careful who we let into our beds. Those thunderous, uncaring movements which leave us bellyful and heartbroken weaken the umbilical cords connecting us to our children. We leave them behind or, worse yet, we take them with us. None of us should ever take our children to that place of such sadness.

I pray to God that in our quests for the man who could finally be our poet-lovers, that we don't sacrificed the ones who deserve better. They indeed are blades of grass who deserve to grow.
And rain helps the grass to grow. Thank God for rain.

4 comments:

egyptchick7 said...

This was a truly resonating and beautiful post. The story of Sylvia Plaith, the affair, the son's suicide and the mistress' suicide and murder of her daughter sounds like it came out of a terrible drama. So surreal, it is more surreal than any Soap.

I tried reading the bell jar, but couldn't get past page 20. Maybe I should try to read it again.

Fathers come and go but mothers are like the eternal bond. If you had a chance who to live with, would it be your father or your mother? Your mother of course. Even thought the bond between my father and i is stronger than the bond between my mom and I, I choose to live with her. (Frankly, i couldn't stand his rules)

Anyway, your first two kids need you a lot. A LOT. And I know you know that.

Salam

Faith Confusion said...

I loved this post, so sad but so meaningful. You are a great writer and don't give up on the dream of your poetlover. I wish my husband read anything...soemtimes i feel sad to not have an equal in this way.

Yosra said...

Asalamu Alaykom EgyptChick,

Thanks for reading and commenting. This wasn't hard to write but it was hard to publish. Ya, I do agree with everything you say...including that I really love my older kids and know that they need me.

Asalamu Alaykom Faith Confu,

Ya, I was saddened yesterday but the enormity of the story. Today, it is NOT raining and I can get out with Mr. Boo and shift those feelings off my shoulders. Had a HUGE headache by magrib time. Today, the pain is mostly gone and I can go get'um. :)

As for your hub, honey...while I do understand the loss of literature with a mate...I would have sincerely loved a backrub last night but no one was here. If you get backrubs from him, then be happy for that. I would have dearly loved a man with strong hands and a kind soul last night.

Yosra said...

Asalamu Alaykom EgyptChick,

Thanks for reading and commenting. This wasn't hard to write but it was hard to publish. Ya, I do agree with everything you say...including that I really love my older kids and know that they need me.

Asalamu Alaykom Faith Confu,

Ya, I was saddened yesterday but the enormity of the story. Today, it is NOT raining and I can get out with Mr. Boo and shift those feelings off my shoulders. Had a HUGE headache by magrib time. Today, the pain is mostly gone and I can go get'um. :)

As for your hub, honey...while I do understand the loss of literature with a mate...I would have sincerely loved a backrub last night but no one was here. If you get backrubs from him, then be happy for that. I would have dearly loved a man with strong hands and a kind soul last night.