Dear Bruce: You have gotten me to thinking again. Ouch!
Proust must have an answer, n'est pas? C'est la meme
choices. One of Proust's contemporaries must have hammered
the same golden mask of Love's design Love doesn't "play
right" in the poetry of today and is often absent in
intensity and purpose.
I like how Proust shows no effort in recording his love of
life. The romantic lived for love. There are no true
romantics today. Well, maybe Leonard Cohen. Proust is
profoundly subtle and almost journalistically modern in his
literary skills of recording his world, his times.
Proust along with the greatest minds of the historic past
are buried in the same cemetery where all the great 19th
century writers, artists, thinkers are buried in perpetuity
at Cimetière du Père Lachaise Paris, France (same place
where Jim Morrison is supposedly laid to rest).
What great mysteries revealed before the atomic structures
changed. Steeped in the classics, the poets of yore knew
what was important. However, once the oeuvre (cosmic egg
cracked) in the 20th century with the first atom bomb,
Love's meaning faded.
Love indeed was divine and honourous back then, it really
had a hold on the creative imagination; greatly missing
today. One has to wonder; why is Love delegated to the
backseat in the 20th century? We have switched our
priorities; technology the new Love goddess.
At least the kind of Love which I am sure was known to the
likes of Proust. Even though his type of love was a
forbidden love(as per 19th century moralism) he seemed to
have his finger on the trigger of the essence of Love.
It would have been nice to have known Proust back then and
the kind of love he employed. It was not naughty but
meaningful and purposefully executed with precision and
grace.
The kind of love and dedication which had meaning and
purpose. Maybe embrassing lovers were encompassing an
unknown template of love's design that was to propel
humankind to a New World Order of Love? Lovers were Don
Juan's in training, romantics all, no thought of
technology, just deep-seated meaningful everlasting love.
Not the pithy kind of non-Love today. Love never mocked or
ridiculed or cruel stings and nettles set upon the vengeful
political usurpership of today. Marry money was always a
goal of the powerful. But for the others who knew only
love's design, this made the world great.
No one really has that sacrificial Love obsession today,
and if they do, it is either boring or dangerously
psychotic. No skill-set for the modern poet describes the
absolute need to Love like the romantic poets.
Today, there is so much else to distract us from Love's
purposeful design, either that or the templates of Love's
design are broken forever. Love was really to die for back
then, literally. It was a cause.
Men did really profess to Love's absolute hold. Or least it
looked that way. Rather than surface level love equals
physical attraction, deep and meaningful love was eternal
and these mysteries, although not understood completely,
were accepted in society. Today, no one believes in true
love. There is no quest, no mountain to climb, no purpose
in love when anyone will do. Love back than was specific
and deliberate.
Once Love's infatuation and romance faded poets turned to
pending issues of the 20th century and Romance died. Proust
was panning for some other unconquered love interest. Maybe
it is good Proust is staying where he is, as it did get a
too bit much of a good thing. Love takes a lot of energy.
Now to dig up the old methods, traditions of the romantic
poets. We just cannot conceive of the romantic mind today.
The meaning of which will stay buried indefinitely.
The ancients and newly departed since 1889.
Love will certainly wait for the new dawn and soon to be
resurrected poet's souls from beneath the altar of these
ancient passions. Once new forever forgotten in the
scramble of molecules decay.jajo
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