If We Had Not Loved You

If We Had Not Loved You

dateline: waved away and wind brought her back – oh time

jp melville

Who would have kissed me goodnight?

You?

How is it that some of us enter night ready for tomorrow,

when others among us enter night ready to be alive?

Kiss me goodnight?  Then leave the room, close the door, and sleep?

What, in all vanity, gives you the confidence to enter my life, my nation, into the blood of my people, enjoin us, take our oil, rape us… how could you seduce me, giving all for years for children for a life… how could you seduce us, that we would die for our nationhood, break from the Soviet past, then sleep with our prostitutes, sell promises to our refugees, and move then to your next desire?

I lie lost in my path, lost in my past.

One hundred years ago or more I kissed Europe and forwent my Persia.

Nicholas spat with Napoleon, the Ataturks the Turks the Georgians,

The century turned and the Whites became the Reds,

And we became who once we were yet not again,

And yet we were again in 1991, then,

My God, in 2001, and

Today, I kiss Europe and yet my Persia loves me,

Mohammedan am I?

If you had made love to me two nights ago?

Would you ask now that I loved you?

Or would you remember,

The cinnamon I added to

The tea I made the morning after?

Your asking me that I love you,

Will never make you love me.

My Persia, My Russia,

Your asking, telling, begging me that I love,

Will never make you love me.

Yes, now I have another lover,

I asked that he love me,

But I never said a word,

I never cut blood in stone,

And now I see that he,

My loins now wet with stain,

Loves no one,

Now neither you,

Nor he.

Good God, I am so lonely,

My people,

My nation,

So lonely now in history.

I am the bitch;

I am the dog;

I am my history.

I am Shrivanshir, I am Nachararyan.

I am Jafarli, I am Rustaveli;

I am woman,

I am man,

Why the rise of opposites,

In the turn of this two hundredth century,

When man and woman,

For all their differences,

Are one?

Enough poetry.

Jesus, listen.

This is how it really goes…

I get this sort of kiss, false like idols in my keys, my coins, my claims to rights:

You know, no sex after weeks, maybe, no it was actually more like three months, and then pop, a couple of nights ago, bing!  Not bing with a lot of noise.  Just bing like, well, like, yah, it was about time, but, like, could we put a little life in it?  Like, could we add some fun and some, like, well, like maybe you actually like me kind of feeling in it?  I mean, like, there is an  awful lot of deadweight in all these years, and, well, just a couple of vague hints that well maybe you might like to get together again, but, then, not like, well, okay then if you want to but I have a headache so be quick about it okay?

Sure.  You’ve got your reasons.  You wish you could like me but you don’t.  I’m no perfect guy.  What was it you said?  Something like, “I’m afraid that I’ve decided that there is nothing remarkable about you.”  Well, yah, like that is a good reason.  Yah, my slow cook and often enough boiling frustration and anger, years of no good news, a no good guy… tell me the measure of remarkable.

You push them down long enough,

They got nothing to do but rise.

And crazy,

But these occidental men and women

Exploding each and every separate one of them,

Alone,

Alone,

Not one of them can rise,

Though joined in loin and wetness…

Who would have kissed me you tonight,

If I,

If I,

If I…

If we…

Had not loved you?