These are probably some of the most difficult poems I ever wrote. I fell in love with someone who hurt me so very much. I was used as a MUSE, by this person. The agony in my own life during the early years in college, and then afterward? One must be careful when one loves. Be very careful. It took me many many years to write the novel “Where I Laid Me Down To Sleep.” I wrote it in total truth. The wound made me suicidal, after what I had to do. And then I had to stay alive. I wanted to die. I stayed alive.
I used to live in this little apartment that looked out to sea, and as I was writing college papers there, these poems date from that time. I had to go into therapy after this relationship. Many years later, as I was trying to have a baby with my husband I went again, and from that course of three years of therapy weekly, I decided to become a therapist for others myself. I helped many, as I had been helped. Perhaps, now, via film, and the writing of characters, I can stop a wound – for the millions by illuminating what happened to a young girl who was so in love, and so shattered.
So, I was this girl. This day at Neptune’s, when he cut me to the core. Nothing could have been as bad as the day this photograph was made. Nothing.
I had left Los Angeles to stop the relationship with this art teacher. But he kept driving up. I meant nothing to him. I was very much in love with him. He was my second relationship. I was a muse for an artist. A photographer. Except that I was a photographer myself. He didn’t realize that I came from a family with two very famous men of film. I never told him, then. Nor did he realize who my first love had been?
When he made love to me, he told me he wanted to plant his seeds inside me. Every time he came he said that, and he claimed that wearing a rubber – well, he couldn’t feel anything if he did. He impregnated me. It was at the bitter end of October of 1981.
December 9th 1981. A day that I can never forget. He killed my heart. In those days men used Roe v Wade as a very convenient “out” but. I really believed him, and I loved him.
He lied to me.
Years later as a therapist, I treated a young girl that was as innocent as I had been, except even younger. “Where I Laid” is to address what happened. For my character Natasha Evergreen. I am hoping very much to have the film realized by two of Hollywood’s old guard finest. My intervention as a therapist will help foster dialogue.
This is the Saturn Return in my life. One looks back.
So I wrote these poems, looking out to sea.
#1
Inside this sargasso sea of strangers
a couple pairs
off a couple the eyes tend to meet
then lower
these minds met one unlocking the other
slowly letting the facts sink in
one taking the lead one following
one decision was reached when we
sped down freeways laughing
sped around looking for any destination
I fought the pull as long as I could
other people’s histories are so charming
this kind of curiosity tends to kill
maybe it was your BMW your hand
shifting gracefully in time to
blasting
blast me apart yes it was the way you
drove and drove me to this
I guess I knew that you would
make love to me the way you drove cleanly
slide inside your kind of knife
leaves only invisible scars
these kinds of wounds heal by themselves
in time
or maybe it was your camera a dangling
appendage most powerful its own kind
of magic that must be it I thought you were
some kind of well-traveled magician
well versed in the arts are you just like me
in that you always get what you want no
matter what the cost? I love the fact that
only certain people meet only certain people sleep
together out of need why out of all the other
people in the world certain people slip into each others
or maybe it was San Francisco never mind the
east coast that always held the greatest fascination
beatnik dreams never mind if you were
too young at that point it’s really fun to absorb
someone else
inner secrets inner core the inside of a
chambered mind never mind the heart because
osmosis that’s it everyone wants that kind of
total immersion that kind of meshing that click of
gears the hum of the motor telling you you’re
alive again I don’t blame you for that
just when you drive in the spikes of truths
those kind of thorns do it slowly and savor it
because I will be if we get lucky
it’s too bad we can’t turn it around and just go back
to LA freeways when I didn’t know you so well yet
just to the point when I began to want to want you
a little for the thrill of it
how much are you going to cost me in the long run
now that we’ve paid the price of admission?
~
*so, that was written when I had moved north to get away.
~
#2
this is the hardest poem I ever had to write
“you used to give me roses”
you used to give me roses
one perfect rose
like a perfect life
and I looking at that perfect life
I had to tear it apart
expose the center
past each perfect veined petal
past the subtle gradation of
softest color
peach rose white cream magenta scarlet lavendar
or the deepest red which fades to black
when I in my foolishness tried preserving
the moment and the scent
other times you brought a handful
claiming, “these are the last ones in my garden”
but you’ve always had a year round supply
how can I make you cry?
should I tell you I was a rose
when that doctor came in with the smile on his lips
I want to show you the center
of a perfect life the center of the rose
if you’ll let me ramble
past all these tangled petals dropping
like bombs on our conversations
each petal must be a moment
no one ever played he loves me, he loves me not
with a rose except me
you gave me roses
and you gave me one perfect rose once
like a perfect life
and I looking at that perfect life
I had to tear it apart
expose the center
expose my own heart in the process
that rosebud & my heart
so much the same, so much the same in fact
that when he
came into that room with that smile on his lips
and pulled apart the petals to find other petals
and more petals and more
past veined velvet
past each subtle gradation of
softest color
peach rose white cream magenta scarlet lavendar
or the deepest red which fades to black
when I in my foolishness tried preserving
my own heart
and all the petals
that I’ve saved all the roses
can’t ever replace that one perfect rose I held for a moment
inside me.
~
#3
“come winter I will teach you how to prune the roses”
will it be that way before harsh weather
when the frost sets in before the fog and the city
smiles for christmas
coming
will it be that we hold hands and laugh and decorate
another bed in a different space across the pages
of our lives & Times
will it be that you will still be laughing
striding in the sun grey with the rain
I’ll bring the white birds out
I’ll bring the box with lights, the symbols
maybe we might wish together once again
amid the wrappings and unwrappings
by the lights of other candles
will it be that we still care for tastes of tongues
and softened lights and softer words
i’ll go out into the garden planting
all kinds of bulbs they’re going to flourish
under my hands they will in every shade of rose
and when the skies grow deeper black before the morning
will it be that way
will it be that you are there to chase away the cold
and colder silence of alone-ness
will it be that i will find you watching
my movements through teh rooms with sadness
will it be that you’ll be sitting
obscure (a little anyway) in light
outlined in silhouette against the glass of
other windows
ringing in another year
~
*this poem was written in January of 1981.
That year, I had my first Christmas tree in college. With him.
He didn’t even really care about Christ.
Nor did he understand, what Christ, or Christmas meant to me.
I moved from the little apartment to one even smaller.
This was my eventual garden.
VALENTINE BONNAIRE - WRITER 