Will You Love Me When I’m 64? : Sex, Desire, and Intimacy in Aging

Will You Love Me When I’m 64? : Sex, Desire, and Intimacy in Aging
{updated on Feb. 10, 2009 @ 4:20 pm MST} – thanks – Scott Wright}

Again and again, though we know the landscape of love
and the little graveyard with its lamenting names
And the terrible reticent gorge in which the others
end: again and again we go out in couples, 
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the wild flowers, facing the sky.
          - Rainer Maria Rilke (1914)

The title and the timing of this blog posting is the result of multiple cross-currents and multiple threads at work: Valentine’s Day (Feb. 14), the timing of new books just released that relate to the love and later life, the demographics of an aging population, and finally the on-going philosophical, existential, and just a flat-out sensual and consensual interest in the topic of “sex” across the life course.

What I wish to do with this blog posting is examine the topic from many different angles with more or less depth per “approach” – and then review some selected books on the market for your information (and interest). And then I will finish up with a “hit list” of my own favorites (Scholarly? Yes – necessarily all of them? – No – there are many other examples I have noted at the end of this posting that I think will capture and enlighten the mind, soul, and body) that together represent the kaleidoscopic view of love and aging. I will hope to cover the landscape from the intensely philosophical to the profane, from the sacred to the surreal. As examples, let us quickly (for the purpose of the posting) review several appetizers – starting with the lyrics from Tina Turner’s song:

Oh whats love got to do, got to do with it,
What`s love but a second hand emotion…
What`s love but a sweet old fashioned notion…

And then take Lacan and Ricouer on the subject in general and by gender (and do not shoot the messenger), but first another “look” at the Lacanian “gaze” in the song, Hair of the Dog by Nazareth – where once the man was fooled by her hypnotic charms (yes, even in a double-wide trailer!), but not again –

Talkin jivey, poison ivy
You aint gonna cling to me
Man taker, born faker
I aint so blind I cant see

And then in movie, The Last of the Mohicans -

Cora Munro: What are you looking at, sir?
Hawkeye: I’m looking at you, miss.

Well, pardon my French – No shit.
Miss Munro (played by Madeleine Stowe) is worth the gaze -

And speaking of French- back to Lacan et al.,

“Women defines as a desire-to-have that which she lacks, and a man as a desire-to-be that which he is not” (Karl Simms, 2007 – p. 139)

“What does the other want of me?” (Lacanian thoery) is sexually focused and internal to self; whereas, “What can I do for the other?” (Ricoeur) – external to self.

“Love is giving something one does not have – to someone who does not want it.” (Lacan via Slavoj Žižek).

Well, be that as it may – that kind of discussion on the topic can make the flesh numb and the spirit unwilling – and then if I may double the pun with “Lord, make chaste, and now is a good time.” That is, until you read Andre’ Breton’s poetry – “Free Union” -1931

My wife whose shoulders are champagne
Are fountains that curl from the heads of dolphins under the ice…
My wife whose breasts are haunted by the ghosts of dew-moistened roses…
My wife with the sex of an iris
With eyes of savannahs…. 

Breton’s poetry are touchstones are the surrealist movement where imagery bypasses the cerebral and locks right into
the neurons that feed the flesh and the aesthetic. But yet, still a philosophy…..

Philosophy? Are you sure?  Yes – and may I suggest then to revisit this book then – Blind Date: Sex and Philosophy by Anne Dufourmantelle (2007). When the book says, “Philosophy has never gone to bed,” – and  then promptly does through the textual synthesis of Dufourmatelle – we are hooked, and then some. Now this is more like it. Read this book and become alive again with the notion of the intellect and body as one fiber optic relaying the sensory data of touch and smoldering hunger for the mystery of coupling. When you realize the light and flame of it all – and to the point that it can affect even the most troubling of souls like Nietzsche:

“From what star have we fallen together here?” Nietzsche to Lou, the first time he saw her.

Now compare that to some lines in the movie Titanic –

Jack: Where to, Miss?
Rose: To the stars.

Hmmm, no wonder the notion of being “starry-eyed” is associated with love. But then there are the “star-crossed lovers” (when the astrological signs just don’t match up for the lovers – thus they are doomed from the get go). And to John Donne, The Ecstasy, where the gaze elevates into another realm –

            “This ecstasy doth unperplex”
            (We said) “and tell us what we love.
            We see by this, it was not sex;
            We see, we saw not what did move…

Alright –let’s forget the stars and the gaze and the phenomenological concerns and back in to the primal level with The Doors – Love Me Two Time
and toward Chaka Khan -

Chaka khan, let me rock you
Let me rock you, chaka khan
I wouldn’t lie to you, baby
I’m physically attracted to you
This feeling that i got for you, baby
There’s nothing that i wouldn’t do

But even then – with all the organic lust and combustion of body into flames and clouds, there is till the searching and the seeking, because after the energy is spent and fluids exchanged (perhaps) and promises made in the euphoria of the afterglow, Rod Steward wonders about Maggie May (the next day) -

All you did was wreck my bed
And in the morning kick me in the head

Which may be the precursor to Laura Kipnis and her book, Against Love (A Polemic) (2003) who examines the sometimes razor-thin line between the “vicissitudes of desire and social conformity.” She asks, “Will all the adulterers in the room please stand-up?” –Wow – what a way to get the audience going.

Okay, here we are and at: Is this love? When will I know? Is it too late? I hope I get “it” before I get “old” – whatever “it” is – or maybe we really don’t until it is all too late (anyway) -

Thus, the ultimate reflection and Gnostic desire in the power ballad from Foreigner -

I gotta take a little time
A little time to think things over
I better read between the lines
In case I need it when I’m older
I wanna know what love is
I want you to show me

Yes, exactly, – “In case I need it when I’m older.” ——-> Which we all will.

Enough – Okay we can now proceed onward.

Yet…… let’s be honest here: the intersect between aging and sexuality (or desire – or intimacy) can be dicey and fraught with tension intra-and inter-personal-generationally speaking. That is, whether the excuse or reason be the working definition of sexuality as something reproductive or something gymnastic or something youthful or something we expect of the raging hormones and lust – and effort – we also associate it with adulthood, but not with older adults or with seniors or (God forbid – but why did I just say that?) with our parents; worse – our grandparents. But why is it seemingly forbidden or the subject of revulsion?

Bio-social and Evolutionary Biology: My DNA (via sperm and egg) Made Me Do It

Perhaps one dimension may be associated with our cognitive maps that refuse to think beyond the reproductive years so that any sexual activity that is post-hoc (post menopausal/manopausal) appears to be an event of dissonance (i.e., Yes, I know, but why? It does not compute…). The activity (desire, lust, infatuation, intercourse, outercourse) goes against any utility function designed by nature, which is geared toward procreation and fertility and fecundity. So sayeth the world of sociobiology and evolutionary psychology where the “strategies of human mating” (see David Buss, 1994, The Evolution of Human Mating) dominate the first half of life (for the most part).

The question, “If we all want love, why is there so much conflict in our most cherished relationships”? is answered by the paradigm of our evolutionary past (that is still with us) and predicts and reveals why men and women differ in their tactics and strategies – and why the news is not all that good in the pursuit of sexual goals. Buss (1994) does address the post-reproductive phase of life (see “aging”) and offers up the explanation as an hypothesis that, “menopause is a female adaptation that prompts the shift from mating and direct reproduction to parenting, grandparenting, and other forms of investing in kin.” Thus, the emergence of the “grandmother hypothesis” which creates the imagery of an extended network of a woman’s “genetic clan.” There is not much else in terms of the role of grandfathers in this approach – only that men die younger – and appear to be redundant or just plain lucky to see any life (regardless if there is desire or viable sperm left in the system) for themselves beyond 85. Buss (1994) also addresses the issue of the prospects for “lifetime mating” – and while he noted gender differences all along the life course, he does (begrudgingly?) admit that it is possible to witness lifetime mating and the ‘success” of a long marriage, but the impression left with the reader is that it is exceptional – and not the rule. He offered that,

“The lifelong convergence of interests between two individuals who share no genes may be the most remarkable feat in the evolutionary story of human mating.”

The take home message is that human mating and long-term marriage are often at odds, but the odds are that if you make it to later life – some degree of harmony is to be found; which may be the reward for surviving it through the hurly-burly world of the reproductive years where (according to Buss and others) relationships, mating, and commitments are more on the level of a high-stakes chess game than “love” and “intimacy.” But even then – “stuff” happens into later life – just look at the title of this blog posting: Will you still love me when I’m 64? (From – Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967)) – and then note the karmic fulfillment,

When I get older losing my hair,
Many years from now.
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine.

Paul McCartney wrote this song when he was 16 years of age and ironically, the song was often humorously referenced in 2006, when McCartney divorced Heather Mills, ironically, at the age of 64 (Paul will soon be 67 seven years of age this June, 2009). Hmm, at least the bottle of wine is a good idea – right? Even back in 1967, Paul was onto something with the resveratrol “magic bullet (see my earlier blog posting on “Fools Gold for the Silver-Haired.”

Medical approaches: There is (or may be) a pill for everything

Because the optic for sexuality and aging is often reductionized and medicalized downward to the microscopic, there is often the focus on hormones, estrogen, testosterone, the ovaries, the uterus, and the prostate. It is usually not the approach to discover the nuances of desire, romance, or intimacy; yet a lot of issues relating to “love” are usually associated with quality of life and well-being at (and with) the physiological level. For example here is the title of a recent news release from Reuters Health, Women’s low sex drive tied to poor quality of life 2009-02-04 14:19:03 -0400

NEW YORK (Reuters Health) – Postmenopausal women who have hypoactive sexual desire disorder (HSDD) – a low level of sexual desire — have a worse health-related quality of life than their counterparts who are happy with their sex lives, according to a new study. In fact, the researchers say, HSDD can cause in impairments in well-being on par with those seen in chronic diseases such as diabetes, hypertension, osteoarthritis and asthma. HSDD, the “persistent lack of sexual desire causing ‘marked stress or interpersonal difficulties,’” is included in the Fourth Edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, which lists and defines mental illnesses widely accepted by the psychiatric establishment. But questions remain about whether HSDD is a real problem for women or “represents a disorder that has become ‘medicalised’ because of its pharmaceutical market potential,’” Dr. Andrea K. Biddle of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and colleagues write in Value of Health, a journal published by the International Society for Pharmacoeconomics and Outcomes Research. In the current study, Biddle and her team looked at data for 1,189 women who had gone through natural menopause or surgical menopause, in which their ovaries were removed, to test the impact of HSDD on women’s health and well-being. All of the women, who ranged in age from 30 to 70 years, were in a stable relationship for at least 3 months. Among women who underwent natural menopause, 6.6 percent met the criteria for HSDD, while 12.5 percent of women who had surgical menopause met the criteria. Women considered to have HSDD were less satisfied with their home life and their emotional and physical relationship with their sexual partner, and were also more likely to be depressed, the researchers found. They were also about twice as likely to have back pain, fatigue, problems with memory, and depression. The women with HSDD scored lower on several measures of health-related quality of life including mental health, vitality, social function and bodily pain. Overall, the researchers conclude that their findings “suggest that HSDD represents a significant and clinically relevant problem.”

Yes, good to know, but where is the “heart”, the “soul” of love, sex and aging  – anything else going except pharmacoeconomics or surgery or chronic conditions?

Cinematic Approaches – Film/Movies

Ahhh, much better. Here is where we can examine the good stuff. Now let’s take a look at a movie that goes way back and here the issue is not so much the age of the actors, but the age of the film itself and what it means for us today. Think about what is said – and then what is seen and not explicitly “seen” on the screen when it comes to love and intimacy. The entire story and plot captures the cross-currents of love, historical events, duty, and decisions made that will influence the course of life – forever.

Casablanca –

<Ilsa:> “Put them on the table.”
<Rick> shaking his head “No.”
<Ilsa:> “For the last time, put them on the table.”
<Rick:> “If Laszlo and the cause mean so much to you, you won’t stop at anything. All right, I’ll make it easier for you. Go ahead and shoot. You’ll be doing me a favor.”

Rick walks toward Ilsa. As he reaches her, her hand drops down.
<Ilsa:> almost hysterical “Richard, I tried to stay away. I thought I would never see you again, that you were out of my life. The day you left Paris, if you knew what I went through! If you knew how much I loved you, how much I still love you!”

Rick has taken Ilsa in his arms. He presses her tight to him and kisses her passionately. She is lost in his embrace.

Here are some comments from Lucius Furius -http://www.serve.com/Lucius/Casablanca.index.html

that I think does a good job at capturing the significance of the scene

“In coming here to get the letters, she realized there was a danger of her succumbing to Rick’s love, a love which offers exactly what her marriage lacks: physical passion, real intimacy — with a man who is, in his own way, every bit as admirable as Victor Laszlo. What makes Rick Blaine and Ilsa Lund so compelling? On the surface there’s the interest of Ilsa’s great passion rubbing up against Rick’s rough matter-of-factness (a combination we see in more exaggerated form in The African Queen), but even more compelling is the deathly seriousness underneath — two great actors again and again finding in themselves true feelings which realize the high drama with which the writers have challenged them. The story resumes “sometime later” that same evening. Though they’re still fully dressed, the implication is that there has been some physical intimacy. The production code of that time would not have permitted — in view of the fact that Ilsa was married — anything more overt.”

And to top if off here is an excerpt o a poem from Lucius Furius – Casablanca

           women like Ilsa –
           so beautiful and passionate
           that just the memory of their love, just the shadow,
           is enough.

And then reflect upon the song, “As Time Goes By”

A case of do or die.
The world will always welcome lovers
As time goes by.

            And don’t forget the novel and the movie: Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. In a review titled, Love conquers ageing – by Anne Hudson Jones in The Lancet (Vol. 370, Issue 9605, Dec.2007/Jan. 2008), the reviewer thought the movie did not completely capture the mood and complexities of the novel (for example – more detailed issues on aging and medicine); yet the love (triangle) story remains:  Florentino Ariza and Fermina Daza and Dr. Juvenal Urbino. After Florentino learns of Urbino’s death (which occurs early in the film), Florentino goes immediately to visit Fermina, telling her that he has waited “faithfully” for 51 years, 9 months, and 4 days to begin his courtship of her again. If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again. – And then again. In person. And again – in letters. But try again – even over the course of an entire life span. Now that’s romance – and dedication – and “love.”

            Then there is the movie Away From Her (2006) which places the context of 45 years of marriage between Fiona (Julie Christie) and Grant (Gordon Pinsent) into the domain of memory loss and personality change due to the early stages of Alzheimer’s Disease.  The following is from IMDb: “After Fiona wanders away and is found after being lost, they agree she must go into a nursing home. For the first time in the five decades their relationship has spanned, they are forced to undergo a long-time separation since the nursing home has a “no-visitors” policy for the first 30 days of a patient’s stay, so they can adjust to their new surroundings. When Grant visits Fiona after the orientation period, he is devastated to find out that not only has she seemingly forgotten him, Fiona has transferred her affections to another man. The other man is Aubrey, a wheelchair bound mute patient at the nursing home. As the distance between husband and wife grows, Grant must draw upon his love for Fiona to perform an act of self-sacrifice in order to ensure her happiness (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0491747/plotsummary).”

    

          Very powerful performances and Julie Christie is a miracle to behold – in the sense of capturing the essence and beauty of aging – and to portray the role of someone with dementia – was quite remarkable.

I have to admit – as a young man, I thought Julie Christie was one of the most sensual women to see on film – and dream about. I guess remembering about Jennifer O’Neill in The Summer of 42 (1971) didn’t help either (actually it helped, but I suppose it is all fair game for more of the Lacanian “gaze”). 

I guess had the love going way back when I saw the movie Dr. Zhivago – and I thought that I should become a poet – so that I too could capture the heart of a Lara (or in the case of Petrarch – Laura, but more on that later).

  

Here is an excerpt from Boris Pasternak’s book, Dr. Zhivago, from the very end of the book with a listing of The Poems of Yurii Zhivago (from my 1958 copy – Pantheon Publishing).

You shed your coverings in much the same fashion
As this grove sheds it leaves,
Whenever you fall into my embraces
In your dressing gown with its silken tassels.
You are the blessing in a stride toward perdition,
When living sickens more than sickness does itself;
The root of beauty is audacity,
And that is what draws us to each other.

And here I am at 54 – still trying to become the poet – oh well, we shall see.
I shall attempt the same at the end of this blog – you be the judge.

Selected books on the topic:

I highly recommend the book, Love Stories of Later Life: A Narrative Approach to Understanding Romance- Oxford University Press, 2008 –  by Amanda S. Barusch (University of Utah). This is a much needed addition the literature and Barusch presents original research into what love and romance means in senior’s lives. In an article titled, “Old flames: U. researcher says love grows sweeter with time” (Ben Fulton for the Salt Lake Tribune) http://www.sltrib.com/ci_11574461 (2009) it was noted that,

 “…after examining interview responses from 91 people ages 51 to 97, the majority of whom were widowed, followed by married couples and divorcees. While the health, economic and family complications of aging often intruded on romantic satisfaction, Barusch said her respondents “consistently reported that love improved with age.

“With nearly 1 in 5 U.S. residents expected to reach age 65 or older by 2030, according to the U.S. Census Bureau, romance among seniors is here to stay, aided not just by community gathering places such as churches and neighborhood senior centers, but online as well, with targeted sites such as Prime Singles, Senior Friend Finder and SeniorMatch.com.

“One surprising element of Barush’s research: In her survey, widowed women, in general, claimed they were less interested in marrying again. Yet that hardly means that recently widowed older men are at a disadvantage in the dating department. With 67 men per 100 women between the ages of 75 and 84, and only 40 available men per 100 women 85 and older, men have more partners to choose from, said Cherie Brunker, a geriatrician at LDS Hospital and faculty member at the University of Utah’s school of medicine.

“Perhaps most thrilling for anyone who thinks love’s embers never start fires later in life were Barusch’s findings that people over 50 in new relationships “reported the highest overall romantic intensity,” as well as “measures of physical and emotional intensity,” compared with their younger counterparts in new relationships.”

Another high-level recommendation goes to “The New Love and Sex After 60” (3^rd edition –rev.) 2002 co-authored by the top people in the field of gerontology: Robert Bulter and Myrna Lewis. In a review from the Library Journal -

“…here is thorough coverage of the standard topics: the effects of normal aging, medical problems, and drugs on sexuality and how to overcome roadblocks; physical and emotional sexual fitness; singlehood and relationships; sexual enhancement tips; dating, remarriage, and one’s children; and finding help. This new edition incorporates same-sex relationships more equitably. In addition, readers are given permission not to be strongly interested in sex a refreshing change from the “super-orgasms can change your life!” approach of so many sex manuals.”

Just added: AS TIME GOES BY - Boomerang Marriages, Serial Spouses, Throwback Couples, and Other Romantic Adventures in an Age of Longevity - By Abigail Trafford - Basic.

Here is another title to consider: Love & Sex: Are We Ever Too Old? by Nieli Langer, Trafford Publishing (September 8, 2006) – and a blurb about the contents -

“Our parents and grandparents do have sex! There, I’ve said it! Love and Sex: Are We Ever Too Old?!? is an opportunity to revisit the idea that the need for love and sex regardless of age, gender, sexual orientation or marital status is normal and natural. The book is a collage of photos of older couples, cartoons, selected poetry about sexuality and couplehood as well as newspaper articles and reviews of books and films that have celebrated late-life love and sexuality. The book is an original way to teach adult children, adult grandchildren and the current cohorts of aging individuals to understand and accept the sexuality of maturing adults. In so doing, they can help transform the meaning of love and sexuality up to the very limits of life itself.”

The Roguish Approach to Aging – Love, Sex, Desire, and Intimacy: The “Hit List”

            Here is where I take great liberty in presenting a line up of personal favorites that have provided a substantive, spiritual, sensual, significant, and serendipitous foundation to my understanding and appreciation for this topic across the life course – and into the later years of life.

• Perhaps it all begins with Mrs. Bacon – my second grade teacher, the Greek goddess made of marble and then onto The Song of Songs, which is Solomon’s, and I wanted to know about the word – chaste. Lord, make me so, but not yet. But one thing is for sure – into junior high school and high school – I still have my copies of Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence (the Grove Press Edition from 1957 – and unexpurgated!); Hermann Hesse’s Narcissus and Goldmund; and then the bombshell – James Joyce – The Portrait of the Artist as A Young Man (1968 – Viking Compass Book) so that once I walked on the shore as Stephen Dedalus – and I encountered the “bird girl” – well, it was to be the artist and the scientist – but not as Stephen Dedalus S.J. (the religious path).
     

                 “To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life !”

• Then onto – Pablo Neruda, Charles Baudelaire, Rimbaud, and Rainer Maria  Rilke – but not a damn line of my own to show from my creation. Science trumps all (for a while anyway) – Biology rules – Everything that can be counted – is what matters !
   
• And then the shock of reading The Love Song of  J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot – and then I had the contra (antithesis) role model for aging ! For the love of God -DO NOT become like Prufrock – “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons” – and then it came back to haunt me yet again – in the same poem and at the last lines - 
  We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
  By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
  Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
                    As I measured life in regression analyses and ANOVA tables – I have become Icarus -       

  
   

• Then the book – The Double Flame: Love and Eroticism by Octavio Paz (1995) reignites the interest in the balance of life – kairos and a re-reading of my portrait of an artist as somewhat older. Thus, a new rule: Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted (thanks, Albert Einstein).

• Which reconnected me over to La Vita Nuova by Dante – and then finally a serious go at The Divine Comedy – which was illuminated into another orbit by reading Harriet Rubin’s Dante in Love: The World’s Greatest Poem and How It Made History (2004).  The realized it was like the uroboros – back to where I had started with Ovid and Chaucer and Hesse and Joyce.

• But here it is 2009 – and almost Feb. 14 – Valentine’s Day – what else you got?

• Okay, this has got to be the all time rougish scholarly article that I have ever read (period). Anytime the premise begins with this: Orgasm is pneumatic – well, you just know it’s going to be wild and mind-blowing (pardon the pun). Jouissance, Generation, and the Coming of God. Ralph Norman – 2008 – , Theology & Sexuality, 14(2), 153-180. When you can combine Lacan, Burke, Kant, Schelling, orgasm, jouissance, and the sublime and Hildegard into one article, you deserve the recognition –and at least one read through.

• Now, if that is a little too edgy – may I suggest Thomas Moore’s The Soul of Sex: Cultivating Life as an Act of Love – which offers a little more practical angle to cultural studies through the optic of spirituality and sexuality.

• The special issue of Lapham’s Quaterly on EROS Vol. II (No.1) Winter 2009. A grand tour of the landscape of love – culturally, historically, and critically – take it!

• Paintings: Ariadne by J.W. Waterhouse – “Theseus – what were you thinking?” Well, that is exactly what inspired me create a work of fiction – Ship of Theseus (see “About Me”) for more info – and then see my verse at the end of this blog – that digs deeper with (and into) this painting.

• The poem that will knock your socks off – and other articles of clothing too, but wait ! – More than that…this poem by Sharon Doubiago is spun feathers upon the map of flesh while performing archeology on the soul. After reading her verse, “How To Make Love to a Man” – I was convinced she had solved the ultimate mystery AND then, epiphany = I just figured out what 100 years of psychotherapy could never fathom – and all this from reading two pages Now if I could reciprocate the creation of similar verse to a woman. We shall see – Her book: Body and Soul (2000), Cedar Hills Publishing, Mena, Arkansas.                    
• With all due respect to Sara Bareilles and her 2008 Grammy-nominated song – Love Song; please consider three more voices to evoke the supernatural power of the song: Now this is my take on it – but I listen to Mary Fahl (and as someone said on the internet, “She could sing the alphabet, and I would probably sit and listen, mesmerized. It has this ability to transport me.”) for earthly sojourns (listen to Mary Fahl with “Take Me As I Am” via October Project) that gives new meaning to Plato’s “cave metaphor”; 

             I listen to Melody Gardot, “Love Me Like A River Does” to drift right into the blissful oceanic nothingness of the place between the frame and the         painting; and finally, when it will be the time for me to fade in final oblivion, I will request two songs = Lisa Gerrard with the song - Cantana - from Towards the Within (Dead Can Dance) as her voice creates molecular tele-transportation from this planet – upward – and beyond; and then onto her other-worldly - Elegy (From Immortal Memory) and just let the music slip into the next track, Sailing to Byzantium to finally understand what Dante was trying to say with the final weaving of Paradise – and what Odysseus was trying to get home to (and for) – after all those years of searching– Penelópē………after you fathom that – then revisit Böcklin’s painting, Isle of the Dead…… (I see me ready – wanting to embrace the atomized breath that is both the vibration of strings and the percussion of eternity – she is calling me from the boat… onto the shore and into a fragmented light and a place where the past is ether – and the future is quicksilver…the journey of the flesh is over – and there is only the immortal memory of sailing with languid breezes and drifting through her gossamer veils…

• Just when you would think that Jean Améry might win the award for the all-time buzz-kill book on aging (full of revolt and resignation – but then again I would prefer the blunt and bone-chilling angst of the actual aging process versus the cotton-candy and rice cake {in other words not much to chew on} writings of modern aging a la Sheehy and any book that begins with “Chicken Soup for the …) – then my good buddy – Michel Houellebecq (author of e.g., Platform and Atomized) comes along with a style of literature to create black holes in the universe (sorry, Schopenhauer, step off – there is a new kid on the block). 
   
• The Possibility of an Island (2005 – Wedenfield & Nicolson, London) is simply a manifesto – a brainiacal rant – about the future of sensual desire and about the scenario of whether or not humans can survive without sex (lust equals life?). I finished this book and then grabbed a nice claw hammer and missed the nail on purpose and as my thumb sang to me in a foreign language – and went back to read Houellebecq’s (Daniel’s last) poem – p. 308 –      
             It was necessary to know
             What is best in our lives,
             When two bodies play at happiness,
             Unite, reborn without end.

                        Entered into complete dependency
                        I know the trembling of being,

                        The hesitation to disappear,
                        Sunlight upon the forest’s edge.

                        And love, where all is easy,

                        Where all is given in the instant;

                        There exists in the midst of time

                        The possibility of an island.

• And speaking of poetry, may I recommend (as I finally begin to close this blog posting of infinite jest – and love:

The Shadow of Sirius by W.S. Merwin – 2008

Surrealist Love Poems – edited by Mary Anne Caws (2002)

Everything Yearned For: Manhae’s Poem of Love and Longing (Francisca Cho)  - (2005)

The Erotic Spirit edited Sam Hamill (1999)

Passionate Hearts: The Poetry of Sexual Love – edited by Wendy Maltz – (1996).

But the poetry to revisit across the life course (in my opinion) is that of Petrarch.

I have had a book on my shelves titled Petrarch: Selected Poems (1977) translated into English by Anthony Mortimer for many, many years – and I never got too far into the selections because the introduction (preface) seemed to strip away all of the need to go in any further (or deeper) as Petrarch seemed to be a basket-case and “Laura” became an impediment to any spiritual progress – such that the theme seemed “been there and done that” especially after evolving through my bildung with Hermann Hesse’s work. (the flesh versus soul script).  But then there was the remarkable and much needed publication of The Poetry of Petrarch – translated by David Young – 2004, Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

The Introduction (by D. Young) alone is worth the price of the book. My copy is marked up with many selections that would resonate with the aging experience, but Petrarch is for all ages – and for all time.

A few excerpts to state my case – and my rationale for such a claim

30

On fire inside, although my outside’s snow,

Alone with all my thoughts and graying hair,

Weeping forever, traversing each shore,

Hoping that pity might invade the yes

Of someone who may live a thousand years

If that is the true life span of the laurel.

Topaz and gold, in sun, against the snow,

Are less than is the hair and those fair eyes,

That lead my years so swiftly to the shore.

 ——-
361

My faithful mirror tells me very often,

As do my tired spirit, changing skin,

Diminished strength, and slow agility:

“Don’t hide it from yourself now; you are old;

Nature must be obeyed, since time removes

Our power to oppose her or resist her.”

Immediately, as water douses fire,

I waken from a long and heavy sleep,

And I see clearly that our lives fly past,

That we have life just once, and then it’s gone;

And in my heart there sounds a word of her;

The one who loosened from her lovely knot,

Who in her day was such a rarity

That no one else will ever touch her fame.

Yes, Petrarch – and many others to consider – as we travel through time.

            If I can leave you with one final set of words for this posting – a poem – some verse – that tries to consider what I have found on my journey with the writers and poets before me. Love is something that is more than – a thing. It has two sides. It is both a wave and particle, it is both winter and spring, and it is bittersweet. It is Absinthe.

How do I explain it? Hiera picra. Face the keyboard and start typing. 
Chase the dream.
Write to save my life, put it all down as Petrarch did. Novalis and Sophie.
Aging – getting older.
If Dante can write his way out of trouble, then I have to try too. If Rilke can go into the chamber of the rose, I must too. As Yurii Zhivago did for Lara, it was he, a la Pasternak, who proclaimed how certain images created the inspiration, and how his work took possession of him like the current of a mighty river polishing stones and turning wheels by its very movement, and so my work, like his, yet unexplored, insufficiently recognized, and still unnamed – the following is excerpted from the book – The Ship of Theseus Vol. III [VITA SENEX] (by Scott D. Wright);

 - Ariadne  {as Theseus leaves on his ship}

the written material is below is copyrighted (Scott D. Wright – 2008) ©

 Straddling two worlds, existing as a traveler with homes on 
both sides of an ocean.

My heart stretched as an arch, a rainbow veiled by summer rain,

and in my soul – a division.

A morality of my duties, a responsibility to flesh and blood,

a most horrific nightmare of splintering

the very tree I have planted. 
And worse still,
my causing a pain deep lasting

in ones I do not wish to offend – and one still I love.

Thus, I loathe myself as hypocrite and schemer,

a profiteer of lives 
I would hold most dearly.

As example, the thought that stops the world spinning:

How shall the living write my epitaph?

They do not deserve my anguished choices 
or the baggage of a fool.

The world appears not to be designed for the fence-walker, 
verily, one must fall

to one side or the other.

Yes, now I know the courage needed to be steadfast,

but like the river must follow

nature’s course, navigation 
depends on the watchful eye.

Life is most precious and carries a host of 
                     
   worries, hopes, fears, loves, and meanings,

each a single blade of grass.

We all share in the pain of loneliness,

a singular energy in a field of numbing weight.

straining higher, bounded by strands below,

yet even the beetle breaks free.

Surrounded by lessons of the frailty in the human heart,

ancient sages tells of stories

of those who reap what is sown,

the very thing not wished for.

Are our couplings judged by lightning strikes?

Or can my soul my not indulge in the full roundness of human embrace?

Aren’t there many expressions of affection amongst the throng of humanity?

Here is the crux:

Is integrity a monologue? 
Can a prince be loyal to other lands?

Let me not subtract from one side, simply to gain for the other.

I seek not more golden things in life, but to immerse my life 
with a limited few then 
you must be at my side as necessary

as the sun to green ivy,

the painter to her canvas,

the falcon to the winds,

the poet to his parchment.

Sands now make haste, through the glass down,

and I can only fathom the present 
knowing that my picture emerges 
slowly complete by the warm connections

of affection and caring among the 
small web of companions.

In the same present, I am aware of the wisdom of death; 
         
   
it is but a sprite of light we live. 


Who shall be illuminated by our souls in the shortest chapter read in the cosmos?

choices . . .

fate . . .

elements . . .

My realm, my tapestry of existence which till now

lived in dreams and private thoughts

is now revealed, but at a risk.

By you reading this, I may have entered the viper’s lair or

I may have finished the circle incomplete.

The words I write with my blood, may be used

as the dagger against me or it may be 
my last gift to life itself. With my soul

exposed, I offer the truest act of faith: 
                                  
my self upon the page.

You could read with compassion or bring me

 to the vultures and carrion crow.

I do not desire you as the missing book upon a shelf,

I wish not to steal your heart, 
nor to gaze solely upon

your heavenly flesh.

As I write what I cannot say: 
I have found myself not be made of granite,

but simply clay.

So, let me express, from afar, how it is between us:

You are the goddess muse and to that . . .  there is no other. 
A singular nugget in a streambed.

Let me confess:

I seek your eyes, swirling radiant hues of 
starships burning through the cosmos.

I desire your lips, to press and crush as

ripe grapes, late summer laden heavy with ambrosia.

I want my ears to collect your voice,

the echoes of nature, river valleys and canyon winds.

I need to lay my head across your dawn-soft

breasts, clouds as spring flowers, to hear your

heart-pulse.

I ache for my hands to travel in your hair silk warm,

exotic, each strand a shoreline breeze.

I would gently hold thigh, knee, calve, and ankle

as though a swan, a bundle of wildflowers.

May I serve to your pleasure, the level of

flames you seek. Take my fingers and strum

your skin as the musician intimately plucks the

stringed cello. May I venture, with you as guide,

to your vineyards and taste the harvest.

I could live as a boulder surrounded by your roots

sinuously intertwined in conjunction over the

seasons that turn with wheel of life – and yet . . .

I am but mortal candlelight. If I were to die today,

my life is made fuller by the experience of you.

I find you rustling

through a brisk October starry night,

corn stalks abound by heavy pumpkins,

 in a snow bank covering a running stream

nestled in by spruce branches, crocus and daffodils,

as trees burst gold green, and in the summer sand

mixing with ocean salt.

This may only be a dream, an intermittent jewel, and an earthly purgatory.

And yet . . .

I drink a bitter essence.

Thanks, Scott D. Wright

{the inspiration of James Joyce – A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man} 
“To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life !” 

Of Grave Concern: On Our Dying – As We Live More Fully

Grave Concerns: Revisiting Some Material on Our Dying – As We Live More Fully

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools – The way to dusty death.
- Shakespeare’s Macbeth

I am not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.
- Woody Allen

Oh great…death. WTF? – Just what we need. A buzz-kill blog posting on death (and how ironic to use the word “kill” as a way of saying: I was chilling along, enjoying some Tweets on my iPhone, and checking out Boing Boing via my RSS reader– and then this guy wants to talk about death).

   Yes, that is my point. It is just what we need. But not the kind of presentation and examination of “it” you might be thinking.

For example, I came across this informative news item with the DallasNews.com.

Remembrances: Deaths that shocked and saddened us in ‘08 12/08 By TOM MAURSTAD 

On one hand it was good to see an respectful overview of the “passing” of a selected few in the past year (2008), but on the other hand, it was sad news of those in the “spotlight”, those who were deemed important enough to notice (or that we should care). But at least the reporter had the minimal skill to ponder the bigger picture. Here are some excerpts to make my case (from Maurstad, 2008):

“We wish everyone a happy this, a merry that. Yet beneath, behind and in the midst of all that fizzy, frothy fun, there is a steady, patient presence. Death. We know it, we’ve always known it and always will know it. Death comes for us all: rich and famous, poor and unsung, Republican and Democrat. It’s the ultimate bipartisan movement, building a bridge, we hope, to somewhere.

Every year, there are the big-name deaths, and they tend to come in two varieties. There are those like Heath Ledger’s. They are sharp shocks that make you reflect on what a tightrope this thread of life can be. You wince at the loss of promise. Then there are those like Paul Newman’s. They are more of a slow, steady ache as you mark the chapters in your life by the parts played and realize that the world has, in a small but important and irrevocable way, changed. It is no longer a world in which Paul Newman, Bo Diddley or George Carlin live. But in a way, the big deaths are easy. Think about the deaths of Tim Russert and Charlton Heston. They received so much attention, so much coverage, it was as if you could out-source the experience. The media grieves so you don’t have to.

Celebrities have many roles in life, but in death they serve a single purpose. They are time markers. You see the name and somewhere inside your memory, a button is pushed and a reel of images and feelings unspool. In what’s impossible not to recognize as a gathering trend, 2008 was a year full of such time markers for Boomers.

Big or small, world-famous or personally important, we take a moment as we leave the old and step into the new, to say goodbye and thank you.”

Ok, that was refreshingly different in a news story (usually devoid of thinking and reflection) to pay tribute to not only highlighted names, but to wax poetic (somewhat) on Death. But still – the catalyst and the focus was on the recognizable few. And indeed, you can learn more of the dead people in 2008 by going to the “Dead People Server” at http://dpsinfo.com/dps/2008.html. But what about the rest of us? I mean, not yet, but what if…you know….me or you, were to move on….you know…die? Would we get a mention at the end of the year? Probably not. Yes, there are the obituaries, but more on that later (read on).

Or instead of not making “the list” we could simply get lost in the shuffle and aggregate anonymity of the statistical tables (Nostalgia alert!: I always knew the TV show The Prisoner {from the 60’s} would come back to haunt me- “You are Number Six” {and then Patrick McGoohan says, “I am not a number — I am a free man!”)

that we can count on (pardon the pun) from the CDC and other Kafka-like bean counters. For example, here is some recent information (released on June 11, 2008, but notice that data has some lag effect and is presented in the usual mechanical soulless manner, But hey! that is what they do) for you on Death,

U.S. Mortality Drops Sharply in 2006, Latest Data Show.

Deaths: Preliminary Data for 2006. NVSR Volume 56, Number 16. 52 pp.
Age-adjusted death rates in the United States declined significantly between 2005 and 2006 and life expectancy hit another record high, according to preliminary death statistics released today by CDC’s National Center for Health Statistics.The 2006 age-adjusted death rate fell to 776.4 deaths per 100,000 population from 799 deaths per 100,000 in 2005. In addition, death rates for 8 of the 10 leading causes of death in the United States all dropped significantly in 2006, including a very sharp drop in mortality from influenza and pneumonia.

 Other findings in the report (just a few: I don’t want to bore you to “death”)

Between 2005 and 2006, the largest decline in age-adjusted death rates occurred for influenza and pneumonia, with a 12.8 percent decline. Other declines were observed for chronic lower respiratory diseases (6.5 percent), stroke (6.4 percent), heart disease (5.5 percent), diabetes (5.3 percent), hypertension (5 percent), chronic liver disease and cirrhosis (3.3 percent), suicide (2.8 percent), septicemia or blood poisoning (2.7 percent), cancer (1.6 percent) and accidents (1.5 percent).

 Alzheimer’s disease passed diabetes to become the sixth leading cause of death in the United States in 2006. An estimated 72,914 Americans died of Alzheimer’s disease in 2006. However, the preliminary age-adjusted death rate from Alzheimer’s did not change significantly between 2005 and 2006.

 Well, between the celebrities passing on and the mind-numbing numbers, what else is there to think about? In fact, I don’t want to think about it. Life is too short to worry about d…., you know, why bring it up? That thing… I’m too busy. Besides I can get my quota with watching Dexter on Showtime

or playing Left 4 Dead on my PC…wait, what are you doing?….

            Boom!

            This is the moment where we bring in the equivalent of the wake-up notice, only more loudly, and with more attention getting…like Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) in Pulp Fiction,

“I’m sorry, did I break your concentration? I didn’t mean to do that. Please, continue, you were saying something about best intentions. What’s the matter? Oh, you were finished. Well then, allow me to retort….”

            And in the spirit of rogue scholarship on aging, I shall.

From Jules to Jaques…as in lines from the famous ‘all the world’s a stage’ speech in Shakespeare’s As You Like It, and the beginning of my retort that would should break our concentration on just drifting along (comfortably numb) – and then it is there – and here, and now. And are we ready? Not for death, but for the complete realization, the sheer terror or knowing –“This is this, there is no more in this life. It is over. And only now do I really know that…wow, why didn’t someone tell me?”

      JAQUES:

                All the world’s a stage,
                And all the men and women merely players:
                They have their exits and their entrances;
                And one man in his time plays many parts,
               ….But at the end – not much but, “mere oblivion,
               Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”

Really? Mere oblivion? And all of it gone? But I didn’t get that text message. Maybe the server was down that day and my inbox was frozen. Maybe I didn’t like Willy boy’s stuff anyway.  Okay, fair enough. But let us take a look at a few cultural venues (and a few representative examples) where there have been attempts to send the message of your (and mine) finitude with varying degrees of success.

Movies:
Death Takes a Holiday (1934)- or later as - 
Meet Joe Black (1998) {Brad Pitt as “death”; and then as a reverse-aging being in “Benjamin Button” – gotta give credit to Hollywood for making both topics more interesting with the star power; but what’s next? Angelina Jolie as a hip Geriatrician? (hmmm, that could work; you heard it here first!}

The Sixth Sense (1999) (“I see dead people”) by M. Night Shyamalan with the trademark twist ending.

Now you may want to me bring up Death Proof by Quentin Tarantino and render some philosophical nuance to that movie (segment); but I say there is none. Except some good lines by Stuntman Mike (“Ahhh, yeah, I know. Sorry. It’s my mom’s car”) and Earl McGraw (“Shit. Two tons of metal, 200 miles an hour, flesh and bone and plain old Newton… they all princess died”).

Death Proof

But for me – it was in the movie Baraka (now on Blue Ray DVD) with the haunting voice of Lisa Gerrard (Dead Can Dance) and the haunting images of burnt bodies of died near the Ganges (India) that has seared into me the reality of life – served with a bucket of cold water – ah finitude – now I see.

  

And speaking of Music:

Knockin on Heaven’s Door, Bob Dylan  {sort of Kubler-Ross stage theory set to music)

And When I Die, Blood, Sweat, and Tears {a ditty with some great lines}

Don’t Fear the Reaper, Blue Oyster Cult {little did I know in the 70s – I thought it was a song to impress the babes – Love of two is one}

Don't Fear the Reaper

Dust in the Wind – Kansas {my all time favorite existential song – oh, the nullity of it all}

And then the uber-group in relation to our topic: Dead Can Dance
(think: “I am Stretched on Your Grave” from Toward the Within – and I challenge you to listen to the voice of Lisa Gerrard on the same album with the song Cantara and not know the spine-tingling sensation of something other-worldly – ethereality).

And speaking of other-worldy-ness and
“can I break your concentration” – Books:

Kubler-Ross is the original on this matter as least on a mass readership scale and I can still remember writing DABDA on my hand with a ball-point pen as a “cheat” to help me with the exam question…What are the stages of dying? And Nuland’s book was a spectacular example of the cold scalpel opening up the clinical/medical process of what is going on when I am dying -

On Death and Dying By Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, M.D., Elisabeth Kubler-Ross Published by Sagebrush Education Resources, 196

Tibetan Book of the Dead - The Tibetan Book of the Dead: Or, The After-death Experiences on the Bardo Plane, According to Lāma Kazi Dawa-Samdup’s English Rendering By Karma-gliṅ-pa, W. T. Evans-Wentz Compiled by W. T. Evans-Wentz Contributor Donald S. Lopez, Jr. Published by Oxford University Press US, 2000

The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker Published by Simon and Schuster, 1997

 The American Way of Death Revisited By Jessica Mitford Contributor Jessica Mitford Published by Vintage Books, 1998

 Remember Me: A Lively Tour of the New American Way of Death - By Lisa Takeuchi Cullen - Published by HarperCollins, 2007

How We Die: Reflections on Life’s Final Chapter By Sherwin B. Nuland Published by Vintage Books, 1995

And remember when I mentioned about paying attention to the NOTICE of people who are now dead (at least for most of us – you know regular folk – in the OBITS –here is a book for you:

The Dead Beat: Lost Souls, Lucky Stiffs, and the Perverse Pleasures of Obituaries By Marilyn Johnson Published by HarperCollins, 2006

 You still can’t remember the messages of why it is good to pay attention to death?

What about some Paintings?

The Triumph of Death Pieter Bruegel the Elder, c. 1562 Museo del Prado, Madrid

A little too gruesome and horrific?

Okay try my favorite – Isle of the Dead by Arnold Böcklin. Böcklin painted five versions of Isle of the Dead from 1880 to 1886. Pick anyone you like – and then sit and take it in – and then you may feel, taste, smell, hear, and see the movement toward the end point – alone.

What about some Cultural perspectives?

Try to learn more about – The Día de los Muertos Season – or read Death and the Idea of Mexico by Claudio Lomnitz The MIT press (2005) and compare to the US (general) culture:

 

 

Death and the Idea of Mexico is the first social, cultural, and political history of death in a nation that has made death its tutelary sign. Examining the history of death and of the death sign from sixteenth-century holocaust to contemporary Mexican-American identity politics, anthropologist Claudio Lomnitz’s innovative study marks a turning point in understanding Mexico’s rich and unique use of death imagery. Unlike contemporary Europeans and Americans, whose denial of death permeates their cultures, the Mexican people display and cultivate a jovial familiarity with death. This intimacy with death has become the cornerstone of Mexico’s national identity.

Finally, I have two recommendations for you. Although, both of these books deal with our topic – the approach and the spark for contemplation are quite different.

Japanese Death Poems (compiled by Yoel Hoffman. Tuttle Publishing (1986). My copy has many pages dog-eared and the haiku verse is better than having you break your concentration with the temper of Jules (while eating a Big Kahuna Burger).

May I share one that I like?

Gesshu Soko (died at age of 79) -

Inhale, exhale
Forward, back
Living, dying:
     Arrows, let flown each to each
      Meet midway and slice
      The void in aimless flight –
      Thus I return to the source.

Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters

All I can say is that you should a copy of this have this nearby – read and learn – and live from it. It is our American version of Death as a teacher – and a far more poetic way to convey meaning beyond the grave – than our standard obituaries. Now, I would like to share one with you. But it you can try to make this a multi-media experience. Perhaps some synthesesia.

Bring forward for your visual review a copy of Arnold Böcklin’s Isle of the Dead.
            Play Sergei Rachmaninov’s – The Isle of the Dead (EMI Classics)
           And read this:

            Widow McFarlane

I was the Widow McFarlane,
Weaver of carpets for all the village.
And I pity you still at the loom of life,
You are singing to the shuttle
And lovingly watching the work of your hands,
If you reach the date of hate, of terrible truth.
For the cloth of life is woven, you know,
To a pattern hidden under the loom –
A pattern you never see!
And you weave high-hearted, singing, singing,
You guard the threads of love and friendship
For noble figures in gold and purple.
And long after other eyes can see
You have woven a moon-strip of cloth,
You laugh in your strength, for Hope o’erlays it
With shapes of love and beauty.
The loom stops short! The patterns out!
You’re alone in the room! You have woven a shroud!
And hate of it lays you in it!

———————————————–

            And here is the kicker -

            Weaving – loom – threads – shroud – pattern. I appreciate what Schopenhauer meant (now – more than ever) about the second half of life (see my previous blog posting on A quantum of tranquility…) - 

We try to make a pattern from the cloth of our life with Death as the master teacher nearby –
Have you begun to weave yet?

                Thanks, Scott D. Wright