Looking at Nowlan
10/27/2005 05:02 p.m.

He Attempts to Love His Neighbours

by Alden Nowlan

My neighbours do not wish to be loved.
They have made it clear that they prefer to
go peacefully
about their business and want me to do the same.
This ought not to surprise me as it does;
I ought to know by now that most people have a
hundred things
they would rather do than have me love them.

There is television, for instance; the truth
is that almost everybody,
given the choice between being loved and
watching TV,
would choose the latter. Love interrupts
dinner,
interferes with mowing the lawn, washing
the car,
or walking the dog. Love is a telephone
ringing or a doorbell
waking you moments after you’ve finally
succeeded in getting to sleep.

So we must be careful, those of us who were
born with
the wrong number of fingers or the gift
of loving; we must do our best to behave
like normal members of society and not make
nuisances
of ourselves; otherwise it could go hard
with us.
It is better to bite back your tears,
swallow your laughter,
and learn to fake the mildly self-deprecating
titter
favoured by the bourgeoisie
than to be left entirely alone, as you will be,
if your disconformity embarrasses
your neighbours; I wish I didn’t keep forgetting
that.
- Alden Nowlan((1933-1983)

in Selected Poems, Anansi Press,
(edited with an introduction by
Patrick Lane and Lorna Crozier)1966

As we’re examining and trying to emulate (Canadian Poet, heaven forbid he's not known) Alden Nowlan’s poetry in one of my classes, I discovered this one and it truly speaks to me probably the most of any of them. So I thought I’d post it on here, for others to enjoy.

Of course now there are more elements we could add, like the internet and computer life, and cell phones. The technology may have intensified, but the message is clearly still valid.

These are hectic times again for me, but I'm still plugging away hard at writing, Italian lessons, (even watching evening soaps sometimes or listening to CHIN FM, multi-cultural station for my practice of Italian), and helping with extended (I hate that word, did someone stretch and remove our first loved ones ever, from us?) family health care, but landing into the welcome solace of the world of words and sharing with fellow poets and friends whenever possible. And music, blessed music, and church, to keep my feet on the ground and heart brave. Mind not insane! Maybe some fun this weekend, relaxing for Hallowe'en, if at all feasible. Though as I mentioned to Chris today, graveyard lawn spreads and bony skeleton costumes have no appeal to me, now, (nor ever were part of my favourite aspects of Hallowe'en). Real life has been dark and ugly enough at times lately. Humour will keep me going. And love. As Nowlan points out, sometimes a bittersweet leaning not addressed well or enough by others. Or the human need for, prioritized, recognized or understood well enough.
I am currently Crafty