Bertoni, St. Vincent Millay, McDaniel, and Bruni: poems about love

The poem is by Chilean poet Claudio Bertoni:

I’d like to be a nest if you were a little bird.
I’d like to be a scarf if you were a neck and were cold.
If you were music, I’d be an ear.
If you were water, I’d be a glass.
If you were light, I’d be an eye.
If you were a foot, I’d be a sock.
If you were the sea, I’d be a beach.
And if you were still the sea, I’d be a fish,
and I’d swim in you.
And if you were the sea, I’d be salt.
And if I were salt, you’d be lettuce,
an avocado or at least a fried egg.
And if you were a fried egg,
I’d be a piece of bread.
And if I were a piece of bread,
you’d be butter or jam.
If you were jam,
I’d be the peach in the jam.
If I were a peach,
you’d be a tree.
And if you were a tree,
I’d be your sap…
and I’d course through your arms like blood.
And if I were blood,
I’d live in your heart.

And this is Sonnet XXX is by Edna St. Vincent Millay:

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

Now, Jeffrey McDaniel’s The Quiet World

In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

Lastly, Carla Bruni:

Je suis ton pile
Tu es mon face
Toi mon nombril
Et moi ta glace
Tu es l’envie et moi le geste
Toi le citron et moi le zeste
Je suis le thé, tu es la tasse
Toi la guitare et moi la basse

The Modus Operandi of Abusive Relationships


modus operandi =

the way in which something operates or works.

a particular way or method of doing something, especially one that is characteristic or well-established.

Synonyms for modus operandi:

method of working · method · way · MO · manner · technique · style · procedure · approach · course of action · plan of action · methodology · mode · fashion · process · means · strategy · plan · formula · recipe · practice · praxis

The following thread on Reddit is a response to this article regarding an abusive boyfriend.

He will help you pursue any goal, any happiness, as long as it does not compromise your relationship with him. 

It expands further out, not just you vs. your unconscious, but all relationships.

And I think by relationships it means it’s the roles of two people relating to each other.

You and the people in your relationships, you and they are all trying to keep each other in the same roles.

Quick examples:
Two people are in a relationship, they have roles.
“Parent”/”Child”. “More successful”/”Fuckup”, “Prettiest girl”/”Side-character”, “Leader”/”Follower”

…it’s all about protecting the “role”, the “Ego”, the “status quo”.
And I think part of true change comes from breaking those roles.
To do that requires pointing out certain truths, it requires going into a different role.

And one of the comments:

One of the Stories of Mr. Keuner, written by Bertolt Brecht, deals with this question and gives an unpopular answer:

“What do you do” Mr. K.  was asked, “if you love someone?”

“I make a sketch of the person” said Mr. K., “and make sure that one comes to resemble the other.”

“Which? The sketch?” “No”, said Mr. K., “the person.”

To today’s readers’ ears this might sound invasive or offensive, a violent image-ination.

It is similar to the force that poet Novalis at the end of the 18th century called productive imagination – a force that can bring about a new, qualitatively increased actuality in the relationship with the beloved.

This kind of imagination does not only produce a merely virtual subjective reality, from the viewpoint of which the actual other must necessarily fail.

But productive imagination rather functions like a magnet: it pulls something out of the other person that only by virtue of the magnet will have been really inside her, something that is more in her than just her self, something that would not have been accessible to her alone.

So this force somehow seems to operate beyond the question of consent or dissent. It undermines the system of coordinates for giving or withdrawing consent. 

This is all a bit puzzling and uncomfortable.

I’m figuring out the ways this connects to


described by the School of Life as “one of the most important historical events of all time… “the birth of a new set of ideas. It is about a mindset and a way of feeling.”

More here on romanticism:

I highly recommend reading through the articles at if you wish to call your identity and modus operandi into question for an hour or so…