seeingM

La Douleur Exquise

Oh yes, the exquisite pain.

“La douleur exquise” in French is the exquisite pain that love can bring. In English we get close with a version of what we would call unrequited love, though this refers more specifically to the relationship state.  However, la douleur exquise is more about the in love individual’s state of mind and the actual emotional pain that their side of the equation feels as being the one whose love is not able to be reciprocated.

Yes I have mapped that love territory, too.  It was most instructive and although it hurt us both with la douleur exquise, I still wouldn’t trade my experiences for anything.  They made me insightful, compassionate and tender in the best ways possible.  I came out the other end with a knowingness of “un vrai délice amour” -exquisite love.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,’The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before.
Her void. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

-Pablo Neruda
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And from the artist:
:
From the moment we are born, the world tends to have a container already built for us to fit inside: A social security number, a gender, a race, a profession or an I.Q.   I ponder if we are more defined by the container we are in, rather than
what we are inside. Would we recognize ourselves if we could expand beyond our bodies?  Would we still be able to exist if we were authentically un-contained’?

-Paige Bradley

More on this exquisite piece and it’s sculptress can be found here:

http://www.mymodernmet.com/profiles/blogs/riveting-story-behind-that

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This entry was published on October 24, 2012 at 7:22 am and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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