I promised no one in particular that I would reveal a few little known facts, about St Valentine himself.
And once again I will prove that Ireland is the center of the universe.
(Photo not taken by me.) This is a likeness of the man himself. Though, I am not sure how like him it actually is, and I guess that is one thing we will never know. That is, unless somebody clones him by using some of his alleged blood which sits in a vial under the shrine in a church in Whitefriar Street in Dublin. Ok, perish that last thought, stomp on at and wash the squashed remnants into the gutter where it rightfully belongs.
I look at the statue and I think of the commercialism by which my mind has been raped. I am not going to further assault your senses with more pictures of giant red love hearts and the same shaped chocolates. There are plenty of others out there doing that already. Each to their own. Really, I don't begrudge anyone their right to be in love. It's just the paraphernalia surrounding it that is grating on me. Perhaps there is also a little of, 'what's it got to do with a cynical romantic like me anyway', involved too. I don't need an excuse to eat chocolate, and if I want a big red heart I can always paint one on my wall, or something...(nah). Anyway roses grow in my garden all year round. So I still don't get it.
So enough about all that and onwards into the past we go to see what else can be dug up, I mean, discovered about our (safe to say) old, yet barely known friend, St Val.
To answer the question: "Why is he associated with love and lovers?", I discovered that there is a semi-true, semi-legend, that he went against the laws of Rome and married young men (I am assuming with young women, since that wasn't stated), who were heading off to war. For this he was put to death, and subsequently martyred. Hardly something a person wants to think about while gazing lovingly into their chosen one's bounteous eyes on a romantic evening under the starlit sky (or while chuggin beer watching a game while the good-woman opens you another pack of pretzels, guys). I guess it all depends on who you are.
That is one theory but I prefer the pagan festival one about fertility and youngsters dancing around with flowers in their hair, possibly even naked, choosing their partners.
Maybe something like this Matisse painting except prettier and with flowers.
So I have travelled from a statue of a saint to an impressionist artist, to try and discover the origins of love- day. All I can say is it is silly because it should be love day every day - but it isn't.
And with that I shall love you and leave you with the best I can do for a poem.
I am not trying to win your heart with a love song
what would i do with it anyway?
I need to write it to ease the longing welling in my chest
I've tried to walk away to turn my back
but when I turn around as I must
the fragments all became magnets
and the birds make kissing noises in the trees
beside the heart shaped leaves
and I can trace the wind back to cupid's lips.
and my head says please don't do this to me
not again, not after the last insanity.
