Partner

Queer Partnering

Who, in his right mind, can be against motherhood and apple pie?

Now, let me ask another question. Who in his right mind can be against love?

It seems that a lot of people, whilst paying lip service to the concept of love, aren’t doing much, if anything, to make it happen.

And I say that’s how you tell the men from the boys. Those who are grown up from those who still aren’t. Or who don’t care to do the work to grow up and out of an endless adolescence.

But back to love. Many have defined it. Including Carter Heyward. And as this fearless queer American feminist, who’s also an Episcopal priest, celebrated her birthday yesterday, let’s hear her definition. All the more so as I heartily share her views.

She’s fearless as she boldly tackles the Christian church calling it:

‘…a body-despising, woman-fearing,

sexually repressive religious tradition.’

Dr Carter Heyward

She adds that the church of which she is a member needs, not a ‘reformation’, but sooner a ‘revolutionary transformation’. (Touching Our Strength: The Erotic As Power and the Love of God, p. 47)

Fear not. I’m not turning theological on you. Not quite. But for love to bloom within the gay or queer community, as in the world at large, there needs to be a revolutionary transformation that’s just as seismic as the one Carter Heyward refers to.

First, there needs to be a realisation that love is a good, desirable thing. And that it is worth pursuing. For all the right reasons.

Also, any internalised homophobia that sees a queer expression of love as not good or valid must be rooted out of one’s thinking.

Back to the birthday girl. In Our  Passion for Justice, she also says that:

‘… loving involves commitment.

We are not automatic lovers of self, others, world, or God.

Love does not just happen’.

And in the already mentioned Touching Our Strength, she goes on about how love is:

‘…a choice — not simply, or necessarily, a rational choice, but rather a willingness to be present to others without pretense or guile.’

Yes, love is a choice. It means it’s an act of the will. All that’s needed is to act and will it into the world. To become committed to it. A quite simply challenging recipe.

But why not try it! Just like Carter Heyward herself did, in a relationship with Beverly Wildung Harrison, the woman she calls ‘my beloved friend and companion’.

And, once again, one of those tanka poems:

under the lampshade

back & forth

a moth

and what’s this thing

that draws me to love

Hookups

Easy Hookup

Advertising appeals to people’s desires. Its study can therefore shed light on a particular society’s values.

When flipping through the paper just yesterday, my usually unflappable self became a tad perplexed. But what caused this brief, temporary lack of composure?

Oh, just a ‘cute’ advert by a major Canadian internet provider. The usual young and happy couple are featured. Her arms around him. And he proudly sporting her quite visible lipstick mark on his cheek.

If the above were the end of it, there would be nothing to say. Unless I’d be wanting to say their advertising is non-inclusive and ageist, heterosexist and race-insensitive.

But it is the accompanying slogan, reproduced below, that the love activist in me must particularly decry loudly:

‘Bell Internet.

Perfect for hookups

with no commitments.’

Marguerite Yourcenar

Go ahead.  And mercilessly hurl your slanderous slurs. And see me as a humourless, born-again prude, if that makes you feel better.

As if that could stop me. Especially as I have no less than the formidable  Marguerite Yourcenar as an ally in this the Battle for Love.

The Belgian-born Franco-American queer author knew a thing or two about love. And commitment. After all, she was in a relationship with the same woman,  Grace Frick, for 42 years. Hardly a hiccup. Or a hookup.

As a writer, she was shrewdly perceptive about human nature. Her very first novel, Alexis, published in 1929, examines the thought process of a man who leaves his wife because of his own orientation.

In a 1963 preface to that novel, Marguerite Yourcenar, examines frankly what she calls her character’s distinct

‘…preference for sexual pleasure enjoyed independently from love, his wariness of any prolonged attachment…‘.

She points out possible reasons for such behaviour, noting that it does not hinge on  a either this or that orientation. And she warns of consequences:

‘…sexual pleasure isolated in this way runs the risk of turning into a dreary routine; even more, that there is a puritanical essence in this attempt to separate pleasure from the rest of  human emotions, as if it were not worthy of belonging to them.’

Thus I assert — with the full weight of Yourcenarian thinking — that sex goes hand in hand with emotions. And ideally it comes with commitment. To pretend otherwise is shortchanging ourselves.

It may be that the young don’t know better yet. But they may grow up. And there’s hope for the rest who can also find out, if they allow themselves to dare be more mature emotionally. As in grow up.

Yes, we all deserve better than what the world of advertising would have us settle for. Now, how about something revolutionary: sane, healthy, and mature relationships of body and mind, and then some.

Relationships better  and more easily afforded by marriage. Or, depending on one’s jurisdiction, a mature commited relationship by whatever other name.

And how about framing this relationship theme using yet again a wee tanka poem:

who will support me

a lavender rose

so lovely

held up

by the trellis

Snap

Snap. Snap. Snap. My hag snapped. As managing editor for a local press, she decided to take matters — and her camera — in her own hands. And look for the cover photograph.

After going through roughly 7,000 shots, it’s easy to understand that enough can be quite enough. She’s hard at work on a haiku poetry anthology about Montreal.

No Snag

And what better place to find the quintessence of the city than in the Old Town. Streets there are paved in quaint cobblestones, perhaps in equal part to lure tourists and to make it easier on the buggy horses.

But first let me state that the word ‘hag’ is used by her semi-humorously. And by me lovingly. And by both of us with pride.

In the best Will and Grace tradition, she feels it is all rather New York. And perhaps some of that New York sleekness will rub off onto us.

But I also snapped her in high heels negotiating the said cobblestones with the ease of a ballerina. I told her that her legs are worthy of a front cover. What say you?

Holding the Mobile

And then she took this pic of me right by Bonsecours Market, which building housed briefly the Parliament of Canada in 1849.  That outing came on one of this summer’s rare sunny day.

And what a summer it has been! Trying my hand at running a press. And dealing with the press’s office being flooded just a week back by a particularly torrential downpour.

Fortunately, some semblance of normalcy has at long last returned to our basement office. And work can continue apace on all of our projects.

And if not this cover photograph, then another. That goes for men too. If not this one, then another one. But, I will not settle for mediocrity. In photographs or in men.

And that brings to mind the following tanka poem written a short while ago, at the height of iris season:

standing guard

over this garden border

a single white iris

all I want

is one good man

How many (Version 2)

And on the heel of the previous post’s tanka poem, here’s a second version of it. On the express advice of some unnamed individual.

Which is preferable may be a matter of taste. And taste is of course an individual matter.

not enough

this chocolate shortbread

melting in my mouth

I still hunger

for a man

How Many

Chocolate Shortbread

I had three of them. Three chocolate shortbread fingers, that is. More than anybody else at the dinner table.

In my defence, it’s possible to say that it was strictly for research purposes. As in with a view on coming up with a truly valid poetic experience.

Be that as it may. And back to the beginning of the meal. Talk came to a sudden halt at this, a working, dinner party, convened to discuss one of the books we’re working on.

Yes, suddenly, the writers, editors, and the publisher, as well as the others in attendance, became so absorbed  in the pasta and the accompanying succulent vegetable sauce that words failed the gathering.

The all-round good cheer resumed quickly however, as we recovered from the collective shock administered by such palatable food. And, in the course of time, we all proceeded to enjoy the said dessert.

And I am still enjoying the sentiments from the resulting wee tanka poem, though. So, here it is:

what I want

from a man

the soft tenderness

of this home-made

chocolate shortbread

All Greek

Gods Behaving Badly

A friend gave me the loan of a marvellously funny novel. All about the Greek pantheon of gods and goddesses living and sharing a house in London. In the 21st century.

It was handed to me as a result of my mumbling something about our Western civilisation having lost touch with some of what made it what it is, such as all the Greek stories of old. The Iliad. The Odyssey. Etc.

In centuries past writers and assorted artists throughout the West constantly referred to the Greeks.  And their values. And their myths.

In Gods Behaving Badly, the writer, Marie Phillips,  cleverly wove in the Greek gods and goddesses in such a way that no knowledge of Greek mythology is necessary for one’s unadulterated enjoyment of the story. It could even double as a primer on Greek mythology!

But living godly lives in modern day London, where they are less than worshipped, implies coming to grips with a reality that is much altered from that of their halcyon days. They interact with one another. And at one point Eros says to Artemis:

‘I don’t think people are that keen on love any more – real love, the comlicated stuff. They like romance and sex … and when that runs out it all looks a bit too much like responsabilitiy and then they quit.’

Isn’t that statement eerily reminiscent of what I have come across on a number of occasions. I refer to the ability to go beyond words. And to actually DO something congruent with the professed love or desire for a relationship.

Yes, talk is cheap. Really cheap. My heartfelt wish then is to meet a man who will move to action. Yes, a man who is able to go all the way to the commitment that marriage represents. Or a legal equivalent in the appropriate jurisdiction.

So, here’s a picture of one of my favourite outdoor places in London, Piccadilly Circus, with the famous statue usually understood to be of Eros. Or perhaps more properly that of his brother Anteros who is supposed to be the god of requited love…  And, for good measure, a tanka poem.

The statue in London's Piccadilly Circus

standing

right in the aim

of Piccadilly’s Eros

surely the gods

will hear me now

Nurture Nature

A Dandelion

Let me briefly turn horticultural today. And state the obvious. Certain plants thrive regardless of the care or lack thereof they receive.

A case in point is the dandelion. As aggravating as the phenomenon is for those who regard it as a mere weed, they spring up at the appointed time every year. They just predictably do.

On the other hand, roses need to be tended. Yes, they need tender loving care to flourish.That bit of wisdom comes from a knowledgeable friend affiliated with a properly floral Rose Society.

And so it came to pass that I was recently asked to do something hitherto never attempted: putting an actual rose bush into the ground. What better way to show this than by displaying a photograph. Ok, two. It all took place in the back garden here at home.

Digging...

And to state the obvious. Again. If one wants roses, something has to be done. Unlike with dandelions, some concrete actions have to be taken.

It’s absolutely necessary to go out and secure a rose bush. Then come the digging, planting, and watering. All that and more.

The same can be said to apply to friendships and romantic relationships. They have to be wanted. They also very much need tending. A word to the wise, indeed.

...Planting

What is seen here in the photographs, by the by, is the George Vancouver bush.

And even though experts say that the Rosa George Vancouver is high maintenance and in need of regular care, I am very happy to report that the said bush has been doing exceedingly well in the summer heat.

Just imagine that Captain George Vancouver, that adventurous soul who joined the Royal Navy in the 1700s, and after whom both the city of Vancouver and the island of the same name in British Columbia on Canada’s west coast are named, led to someone designing that particular hardy hybrid rose.

And why not end this post with what seems to be becoming a bit of a tradition here at My Very Gay Wedding, that is yet another pithy tanka poem:

one for him,

one for me:

two blooms

on the rose bush

planted the day we met

Sanctuary

White Crane, Issue 79

Of late, I’ve been musing on the concept of safety. Words that come to mind in this connexion are ’shelter’, or ’sanctuary’, or ‘haven’.

And given rampant, and sometimes virulent, manifestations of homophobia, safe places remain an absolute necessity for gay or queer folks.

Sadly, that is still the case. Equally sadly, I speak from recent personal experiences. Oh, a slipped homophobic slur. Or that tired, dreadful and ridiculously uninformed linkage of gay men with paedophilia.

And that coming from people who are not ‘true’ homophobes.  Even in 2009. Even in a forward-thinking society that prides itself on being tolerant, accepting of differences and inclusive.

Unsurprisingly, then, safe places are still needed. But what is a safe place? It can be a physical venue or a place of the mind. Or both.

As such, a magazine can be a sanctuary. For gay writers and gay writing. Thus White Crane ( or WC) has been providing a safe place for gay people to discuss and share with one another our own gay wisdom and culture over the past 20 years.

The latest issue of White Crane helpfully examines ’sanctuary’ from a variety of gay perspectives. Including one from Stafford Whiteaker, editor of The Good Retreat Guide.

Stafford’s insightful article begins with a definition that quite simply resonated within. And it is so in keeping with the theme of My Very Gay Wedding. So, perhaps, I’m allowed to share it here:

In terms of sanctuary, the best Gay one is the legal status of Gay  marriage and civil partnerships… This is true sanctuary for it offers … a place of safety, acceptance and security and hope in the future. The commitment to another out of love is also deeply spiritual and spirituality is an essential part of any sanctuary. When the body feels safe, the mind relaxes and when the mind lets down its many defenses of the self, our hearts take hope and this inner spirit opens the door to our hearts. This also means we become vulnerable and why sanctuaries and retreats must be places of acceptance and security of mind, body and spirit.

( from White Crane, Issue Number 79, page 28)

Always thoughtful, White Crane is worth a read online (where some articles can be read free) or by subscription for the rest!

Be that as it may, could summer rain be as beneficial for tanka poetry as it is for vegetation? You be the judge…

this rainy night,

cherry blossoms long gone,

under these trees

I wish for shelter

in a man’s arms

Just a Spot

Who can’t use a spot of romance? I could. And what better way to express romance than by availing oneself of the potential contained in that  short, though oh-so-potent, poetic form known as tanka, of course.

So, here’s a little  tanka poem coupled with a photograph…  Delve with me into that inner landscape, i.e. that of the mind, using that other landscape outwith oneself as a useful springboard!

strolling home,

the evening sky

in lush orange,

my dreams will be

of us in paradise

Get It

Taj Mahal Review, June 2009

Since the beginning of the year, I have been moved to explore the concept of love through tanka poetry.

And some of that was fuelled by that monument of monuments to love: the Taj Mahal in the state of Uttar Pradesh, in northern India.

Much has been written about the Taj, and there’s no point in repeating what is available out there for public consumption.

But, the Taj mystique draws millions of visitors year in, year out. That the Moghul Emperor Shah Jahan, then reigning over what is now India, saw fit to have such a grandiose mausoleum built for his wife Mumtaz Mahal, after her death in 1630 is quite a story.

The story can best be explored in the building itself. The architectural details and design of the complex just boggle the mind. It can easily, as it did me, set one on a reflective path about love.

And a series of my tanka poems written as a result of that reflexion has just been published in the June 2009 issue of the Taj Mahal Review. TJR is published in India and bills itself as an international literary journal.

(The June 2009 issue of TJR can be ordered from their website. Clicking on the magazine’s name just above will see you land there.)

But, just so as to whet your appetite, here’s the very first of that tanka series on love, here below accompanied by a photograph. You’ll just have to secure a copy of the magazine for the rest!

looming

over Agra’s rooftops

this sight:

do they ever

tire of love?

They’ve Got That Right!

They came. They ate. They left. Yes, the happily engaged couple came for brunch today and left a sense of peace in their wake.

And what a wonderful inspiration those two have been to me recently. They know what they wanted on the romantic front and they went out and got it. Though they met exactly only two months and two days ago, they’re now obviously well on their way to creating a good life for themselves together.

When asked about what she liked in that relationship, the bride-to-be simply answered that it was nice to be able to go home to ’someone’. Also, this relationship, she freely admits, is unlike previous ones in terms of quality. And she’s in a position where she can recognise what is sane and healthy.

To the observer that I was, seated opposite the happy couple at the brunch table, he is obviously good for her. And vice versa. They are quietly happy with each other.

Yes, John Donne plumbed the human condition accurately when he penned

No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main…

(From Meditation XVII, in his Devotions upon Emergent Occasions)

But, back to the couple in question. May their happiness inspire others. May the world be a better place one person at a time. No, let me amend that to ‘one couple at a time’.

ps I know that this is supposed to be a ‘gay’ blog. And it is so. Indeed, ‘very’ so. But orientation is no bar to love. Hence my decision to highlight a happy ’straight’ couple today!

DNA

Just took an online test that purports to give an accurate reading of one’s psychological DNA. Or something like that.

A question that came to mind, though, was as to how something that’s totally free could be reliable. But, as is often the case, the proverbial proof is in the equally proverbial puddding.

So, right now and right here, and for all to see, the results of that test are to be found by clicking here. Apparently, I am a ‘generous visionary’. Whatever that means.

Whether all that it says it absolutely accurate, is not necessarily the point. The point for me is that it started me thinking about my own values and who I truly am. And if knowledge be power, then knowing oneself can’t be a bad sort of a thing… In or out of marriage or a relationship.

Mango & Tango

 

Another Saturday night. This one spent watching Three to Tango. Though released in 1999, I hadn’t seen that romantic comedy yet.

There may be truly funnier and better crafted comedies than this one. But there were was enough merriment to make it worth one’s while. And then there was the chocolate chip ice cream adorned with mango slices and raspberries.

But what was the film all about? This man who is thought to be gay ultimately has to come out of the closet and let everyone knows that he is … straight. 

Speaking of coming out: how many times must do that?! What should be perfectly clear to all is not necesarily so obvious, apparently. Even if one has ‘come out’, there’s seemingly a need for a re-enactment that lurks somewhere along the way. For all sorts of reasons. 

How many times during the coming week will I have to make it clear to whomever, and for whatever reason, that I am gay. Indeed, very gay! And that I’m seeking to get married to a … man.

To close off today’s post, anothe tanka then, partly inspired by flowers on the kitchen table:

potted

begonia blooms

in soft pink

I must show

my true colours

So Good

 

Oh, boy! It was quite simply delicious. Yes, delicious. No other word for it. Well, there must be synonyms. But, what I  mean is evident: it was very good.

What was so very good, you ask? One of the recipes to be used for the meal that is going to be served at the engagement party a friend will throw … once I get engaged.  Whenever that is.

The point being here that the whole exercise is entirely possible. And that it’s wonderful to have friends. Not just period But who stand behind you and support your aspirations. Friends who believe in you.

Be that as it may: the food at that party is something to look forward to. A taste of things to come…

How?

How?

 I realise that with a title like this, My Very Gay Wedding, and what with my going on about marriage it may actually be scary and offputting for some men.  

Well, I want a man who is unafraid of  commitment. Or at least who is ultimately capable of that. Who has thought things through.

No point saying that I want raspberry ice cream if what I really want is cherry ice cream. At any rate, that’s my logic.

Of course, I don’t at all expect to get married by next week or something like that. Allowing for sufficient time for a friendship to develop would be nice.

And on the strength of that friendship, we could then move on to being soulmates. After that we could be companions and more. And get married.

The above is of course a theoretical progression of events. But it is what it is. And I’m open to rethinking it, when faced with whatever reality may be sent my way.

But how did I get to be this wise?! I borrowed some of that wisdom from a dear friend for whom it worked. That’s all.

What a Day

No to homophobia!

This past Sunday, 17 May, was International Homophobia Day. And as homosexuality knows no borders’, it was also celebrated in Cuba . 

And as I’ve been known to have a soft spot for Cuba, it’s appropriate to give it a tip of my hat for all the noteworthy advances effected there over the years. Attitudes can indeed be changed.

Sadly, though, there are many countries around the world where gay rights are not as advanced. Indeed there are still countries where state-sanctioned homophobic acts include the death penalty.

The vectors of homophobia are homophobes. Who are they? Very sadly, some are even gay men and women themselves. That should not be a huge surprise. For anyone raised in an environment that looks down on same-gender interaction, it is hard not to unwittingly absorb some of those negative views.

As hard work as it all may be to rid oneself of one’s own homophobia, it just must be done. For personal growth.

The other day, I told a friend of my decision to get married. He replied that he could never do that. Why? Because, said he, of his family. Even if they know of his orientation. And, as I have met some of them, they do not strike me as rabid  homophobes.

So, there is this dreadful thing called internalised homophobia. And that can lurk within anyone. And I too must guard from that. I too was raised in a homophobic society.

And I too must absolutelly rid myself of whatever remant of homophobia that’s possibly still within me. So that I can be fully myself.  Fully capable of a sane and healthy relationship with another man. So I can get married too.

And, in closing today, here’s another tanka:

neighbour’s

front garden

pansies

 thrive

in the sun

Saturday Night

 

What a diffference a week makes. Or not. Last week at the same time I was on my way out to try and meet Mr Right.  This week, I’m staying home. And it’s a dark, rainy spring night to boot.

What finally made me go out last week was the seemingly reasonable argument put forward by a friend. She eventually wore down my defences by pointing out repeatedly the unlikelihood of meeting Mr Right staying by myself at home.

So, off I went, into the dark and into the city centre by subway. And then down a few steps to a small bar where 7 or 8 people were sitting down sipping drinks. 

There also was what passed for music. After all I’ve been known to have a penchant for something a bit different. As in the following haiku I wrote taken from Sun Through the Blinds (Shoreline, 2003):

queen’s jubilee

incense and latin motet

my flared-bottom trousers

If the only person  you talk with is the barman, when you ordered your de-alcoholised beer, and you were thankful for the literary magazine of short stories on the counter, then I suppose you’re not the epitome of a bar fly.

So, the question is where then to go or what to do to meet the ever elusive Mr Right. Clubbing is out of the question. Been there, done that. Church? Well, it seems to be strictly for praying and spiritual edification.

But why not the internet? Despite what the nay-sayers may think and say, there is a growing body of evidence to suggest that internet meetings can lead to successful relationships.

Since the beginning of the year, I have been hearing of happy couples  meeting online.  Either known to me personally. Or known to people about me.

Don’t misunderstand the orientation of this post. I am not saying that short stories translated from the Japanese are not my cup of tea. Just that there must pleasanter places to read them than some semi-deserted bar on a Saturday night. At least I know that much now. If nothing else.

Maybe I should see if  there is another harpsichord recital coming up or some such thing…

 

 

Support

 

Things have a way of falling into place. And, more often than not, it’s likely that others will have provided some support when they do.

Even though there’s no wedding date set now, if only because there’s no great man yet to get married to, it is clear that the logistics of the whole thing is entirely possible.

Since I started bruiting about my definite intent as regards marriage, a few people have been rallying round. For instance, a dear friend offered her back garden for the engagement party.

Not only that but she even offered to thrown in Chinese lanterns to add a special touch to the event. Indeed they would! And two persons offered to cooperate on the question of  the menu.

 And then there’s an acquaintance who mentioned that wonderful bijou getaway that she knows of  in Vermont. For a quiet honeymoon, I suppose. Or a part thereof!

Whether things happen just as suggested above is immaterial. What matters is that it shows that the whole endeavour is entirely within the realm of possibilities.

And everything shall fall into place. In the meantime, it’s heartwarming to know there are  caring, supportive individuals around me.

Anthemn?

 

Not every blog has one. But why couldn’t MyVery Gay Wedding have its very own  anthemn!

So it is with some trepidation that I offer the 1955 hit ‘Love and Marriage’, as sung here below by Frank Sinatra.

Why this song? Because someone lent me a recording of it this past week. And the sentiments expressed therein bear repetition. If not singing. Yes, ‘love and marriage’ are like ‘a horse and carriage’ and they do belong together.

Marriage is of course about companionship and mutual support.  But love is always an apt beginning. Whether the marriage be a ‘gay’ one, or not.

 

 And if someone feels prompted to suggest another song, do leave a message by clicking ‘Comments’ just below the post. Your choice shall be given due consideration. A blog can certainly have more than just the one anthemn.  One for every day of the week?

 

Busy Day

 

Looking after oneself is important. So it was in that spirit that I found a dentist to minister to my needs. However, all that time spent comfortably reclining can be conducive to thinking.

Here’s then a tanka poem (1300-year-old form of poetry originating from Japan and often concerned with love; it’s also a bit like a haiku, just a tad longer.):

in dental chair

mouth

wide open

to the reality

of love

Afterwards, there was a meeting in an office replete with tulips, a happy reminder, they said, from last Sunday’s Mothers’ Day. And another tanka poem was hatched there:

seven pink

tulips’

slender stems

should i wish  him

tall & slim?

Then it was on to a department store, where a few purchases had to be made. And, walking through the aisles, certain things were sighted. That gave rise to yet another tanka:

under the neons

racks

of bathing suits

for a honeymoon

in the Caymans

And, as if all of the above tanka poetry hadn’t proved quite enough, there was yet another moment as I inspired nature (and it inspired me right  back) smack in the city centre, and all that on the way to a restaurant for a bit of a bite.

the scent

of the cherry blossoms

at the green light

high time to

get married

So, even amidst the day’s busy-ness, love was never too far away from my thoughts! Surely, that is saying something… And I’m not even going to bring up anything about another happy couple met in the early evening…