Poem of the Week: Valentine, by John Fuller
Poem of the Week (Poem, Author, Analysis)
Table of Contents:
- The Poem
- The Author
- The Analysis
1. The Poem
The things about you I appreciate
May seem indelicate:
I’d like to find you in the shower
And chase the soap for half an hour.
I’d like to have you in my power
And see your eyes dilate.
I’d like to have your back to scour
And other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
To chase you screaming up a tower
Or make you cower
By asking you to differentiate
Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
I’d like successfully to guess your weight
And win you at a fête.
I’d like to offer you a flower.
I like the hair upon your shoulders,
Falling like water over boulders.
I like the shoulders too: they are essential.
Your collar-bones have great potential
(I’d like your particulars in folders
Marked Confidential).
I like your cheeks, I like your nose,
I like the way your lips disclose
The neat arrangement of your teeth
(Half above and half beneath)
In rows.
I like your eyes, I like their fringes.
The way they focus on me gives me twinges.
Your upper arms drive me berserk.
I like the way your elbows work.
On hinges …
I like your wrists, I like your glands,
I like the fingers on your hands.
I’d like to teach them how to count,
And certain things we might exchange,
Something familiar for something strange.
I’d like to give you just the right amount
And get some change.
I like it when you tilt your cheek up.
I like the way you nod and hold a teacup.
I like your legs when you unwind them.
Even in trousers I don’t mind them.
I like each softly-moulded kneecap.
I like the little crease behind them.
I’d always know, without a recap,
Where to find them.
I like the sculpture of your ears.
I like the way your profile disappears
Whenever you decide to turn and face me.
I’d like to cross two hemispheres
And have you chase me.
I’d like to smuggle you across frontiers
Or sail with you at night into Tangiers.
I’d like you to embrace me.
I’d like to see you ironing your skirt
And cancelling other dates.
I’d like to button up your shirt.
I like the way your chest inflates.
I’d like to soothe you when you’re hurt
Or frightened senseless by invertebrates.
I’d like you even if you were malign
And had a yen for sudden homicide.
I’d let you put insecticide
Into my wine.
I’d even like you if you were Bride
Of Frankenstein
Or something ghoulish out of Mamoulian’s
Jekyll and Hyde.
I’d even like you as my Julian
Of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan.
How melodramatic
If you were something muttering in attics
Like Mrs Rochester or a student of Boolean
Mathematics.
You are the end of self-abuse.
You are the eternal feminine.
I’d like to find a good excuse
To call on you and find you in.
I’d like to put my hand beneath your chin,
And see you grin.
I’d like to taste your Charlotte Russe,
I’d like to feel my lips upon your skin
I’d like to make you reproduce.
I’d like you in my confidence.
I’d like to be your second look.
I’d like to let you try the French Defence
And mate you with my rook.
I’d like to be your preference
And hence
I’d like to be around when you unhook.
I’d like to be your only audience,
The final name in your appointment book,
Your future tense.
2. The Author: John Fuller
John Fuller is an English poet who was mentored by W.H. Auden and was heavily influenced by T.S. Eliot. His father was also a poet (Roy Fuller), and this likely led to his interest in poetry at a young age and his decision to become a professor at both the State University of New York and the University of Manchester.
In 1968, Fuller founded Sycamore Press in his garage (which published W.H. Auden, Philip Larkin, Peter Porter, and other important writers) and closed in it 1992.
Currently, he has published fifteen collections of poetry and lives in Oxford, where he is still writing.
3. The Analysis
“Valentine” is one of my favorite poems because it is direct, potent, but while sentimental, is not sappy. Love poetry is infamous for creating exaggerated and generic caricatures of love in from the mindset of someone currently experiencing it, but if you have ever been in love, tell me how well you think in the moment. Not very, right? Therefore, to write a good love poem, it must be clear and wanting but somewhat grounded. Being in love is nothing like the experience in retrospect, and that is the feeling that Fuller infuses into the reader: nostalgic love.
The rhyme is also interesting because it shows that the poem doesn’t take itself too seriously, and while academic topics are mentioned such as philosophers, the kid-like tone is fun and not overly potent. This self-importance is the mistake most poets make when writing love poems because love is not self-important or pretensions or thoughtful; it is chaotic and aloof and a constant high and withdrawal. The pain of wanting is a focus in “Valentine,” but Fuller is not pathetic in his articulation.
Fuller says, “The things about you that I appreciate may seem indelicate,” because yes, our parents tell us that people should love us for who we are, not what we look like, but your parents also told you that Santa Claus is real. Loving the way someone looks is not superficial or promiscuous like you are told — it’s a facet of love. Fuller centralizes the body in his poem and shows that appreciation is not dirty, but an impulsive decision that grows as if it is an acquired taste.
Love is indelicate. The whole damn concept is indelicate. That’s what makes it different than anything else we experience: it is one of the few harmful things that doesn’t kill us.
Love is also cheesy, so I’m sorry that this is all so cliche. I’m just not as good of a writer as John.
