This piece was inspired by my Grandfather Sweet’s poem “Love”. The poem itself is something I struggled with; is love strong enough to really protect us? In the end I decided it is but it isn’t. It depends on the kind of love and if one loves oneself. There does seem to be a type of “love” that breeds misery—but I don’t think I’d call it love. I think it’s that first aching to be a part of another, to not be alone or lonely.
I’m sorry, dear, but love is like
A fragile lace
That’s beautiful to contemplate
But has no place
As cloak against the cold
Realities of life
Where bitter winds of doubt
With keenness of a knife
Assail the luted soul that love
Has got in thrall
And fed the aching heart
On bitterness and gall.
Why love should breed such misery,
I do not know.
And I am truly dear,
But it is so.
by Arthur Sweet, Carla Chlouber’s father and my grandfather