[Newspoetry] Love is an apolitical act of poets -- Zhivago

[DL Emerick]

After reading some Yeats:

My love and I did lay ourselves down,
amongst the flowers on hills so green,
so fair the blue skies above us hung,
we scarcely noticed the clothes we flung,
as we did there upon verdant hill,
scale the mountain and sail the skies;
climbing and soaring we did then float,
to the edge of time and beyond.


As against, after reading Bridges of Madison County?:

You have (oh, only)
so many memories...

Worn down they become,
needing a cleaning,
scouring or polishing,
a wiping away of pawing prints,
removing tarnish rottings,
a wiping away of acids
that fall in teardrops,
wetting yet not washing
memory away from me.

A maker of memories I am,
a manufacturer of being,
stamping them out of time,
in rhythm and cadence,
letting each sweeping ebb
and all returning backflow,
like tides washing shores,
whitening smoothing sands,
burying little shells of souls,
leaving a ring of debris
around all the sharp edges
of under powdered worlds.

Memories have so much me,
too less and little more of you, 
leave our worlds too lacking in time,
too lacking in loving in time 
as the sole prime event to be
between us in a wilder world,
keeping it away from us,
keeping us from being us.

So much of memory I have,
I forget who I am to be,
when I come out as one of us;
I must of memories make
ever this time of you so right,
undoing my failings before
conveying you so well away,
that you'd not be knowing yourself
when come, to union us in me.

Oh, it's such a tiny thing
this thanking you into me
this thinking me into you,
this letting being sharing caring,
carrying away of times past when,
today, yestreen, then my evermore.

****

Love is an apolitical act of poets -- Zhivago
He'd have said that, if Pasternak'd said so.
My own view seems always closer a brother's,
the Communist leader, who knew quite clearly
that love threatens to overturn in ruins
all political orders, and all governments,
for lovers need no larger State outside,
a State that ever rules by its iron fists,
when all else crumbles, falls and fails.

Love is the most political of all states.
Hegel might have said exactly that,
in his odd poetic Wise-Love for Right,
if one could figure out his words out,
and see how in Love with Love he was --
for he loved most what he most feared,
wanted to bury, as a foundation of State,
the order of family in token burial plot,
upon whose mausoleum walls rise a State,
as a great edifice of the Uber-familial.

It's sad that Marx read no Hegel right,
and mispracticed the politics of Love,
stressing more State's productive uses,
misuses, abuses, as reduces being itself,
to a merest market commodity, a crime
against humanity, committing to nothing
those differences between beings in love.

So, today, I celebrate the newspoetics
of love that overthrows every evil axis,
every regime that steeps itself in hate:
every state prosecutes and persecutes
the independence of lovers, in privacy,
in hiding, in denying all invasions,
all intrusions, all divisions deployed
against lovers in wanton hidden ways.