Tuesday, 14 February 2017

I Compose A Valentine

Ever since I saw the film version of Far From the Madding Crowd, I have been suspicious of Valentine's Day and its cards.  The trouble Bathsheba Everdene caused with hers was, well, fatal.

Perhaps that's why, in writing my first ever Valentine poem, I've written it for Franz Schubert.

I received a card of my own a couple of years ago.  It came in the post in a cream envelope, landing on the mat of my then home.  I experienced initial excitement (someone likes me!) followed by a creeping sense of unease (but who?).  Anonymous, the card began to feel like a threat - I had reason to be suspicious of anyone's attention since receiving harassing emails and worse from someone I'd previously trusted. 

I'm not sure where to send my poem for Franz.  I friended his page on Facebook earlier this week in preparation, but when I went to find it this morning, it had disappeared.  There are other Franz Schuberts out there, but I can't be sure they're the ones that wrote the Impromptu in G Flat Major and all his other songs for piano that move me, that have led to my current crush.

I still don't know who sent me the Valentine card.  I came across it in a desk-tidying episode a couple of months ago.  I'm not sure, given the discomfort it caused, why I kept it.  I'm pretty sure the intention was good, but anonymity for whatever reason means a certain power is kept by the sender. The card evoked a milder response this time - a pleasant query about who'd taken the trouble to show affection, and a realisation that this far on, I want it to remain a mystery.

As for Franz, he remains unreachable. I'm sure I could have therapy for that, for falling for someone unattainable, but here's one of the many other reasons why I love him:



  1. Do we need a game of 'eliminate the suspects'? It wasn't me, honest....