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LOVE LETTERS ART SHOW

I love love.  The art show this month at the Unicorn Café is compiled of love letters that patrons of the Unicorn shared over the years in our “LOVE LETTERS” book.  These letters capture the entire gamut of emotion surrounding love: silliness, passion, sarcasm, joy, pain, desire, and so many more.  I believe it is important to acknowledge this wonderful part of the human condition- in all its manifestations.  Thank you to everyone who shared their letters of love.  If you want to write your own Love Letter please do.  The Love Letters book is located in back of the pew.

Love,

Tracie

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2 comments on “LOVE LETTERS ART SHOW

  1. As Valentine’s Day approaches, memories of loves once yearned for come to mind. I recall Nicole Ferrans, a tantalizing French woman whom I met in London in 1970. Unfortunately (for me), the relationship remained platonic. However, Nicole introduced me to some outstanding French chanteurs, including Georges Brassens (you’ll find his music on the Web). Nicole copied out and translated the words to a poem that he sang, by Louis Aragon, called “Il n’y a pas d’ amour heureux” (There Is No Happy Love). That poem confirmed what my bruised adolescent heart had led me to suspect. Following are a link to a recording of George Brassens singing that song, and a translation of the poem. (You students — and native speakers — of French, at the Unicorn, may know of a better one.)

    – Fred, A Man Still Suffering from Valentine’s Day PTSD

    There Is No Happy Love
    by Louis Aragon [translator unknown]

    Man never truly possesses anything —
    Not his strength, not his weakness, not his heart.
    When he opens his arms,
    His shadow forms a cross.
    When he tries to embrace happiness,
    He crushes it.
    His life is a strange and painful divorce.
    There is no happy love.

    His life resembles those soulless soldiers
    Who have been groomed for a different fate.
    Why should they rise in the morning,
    When nighttime finds them disarmed, uncertain?
    Say these words and hold back your tears:
    There is no happy love.

    My beautiful love, my dear love, my torn heart —
    I carry you in me like a wounded bird.
    Those who unknowingly watch us walk by
    Repeat after me my words and sigh.
    They have already died in your bright eyes;
    There is no happy love.

    By the time we learn to live,
    It’s already too late:
    Our hearts cry in unison at night;
    It takes many regrets to pay for a thrill,
    Many a misfortune for the simplest song,
    Many a tear for a guitar’s melody.
    There is no happy love.

    There is no love which is not pain,
    There is no love which does not die,
    There is no love which does not fade,
    And none that is greater than your love for your country.
    There is no love that does not live from tears,
    There is no happy love —
    But it is our own love.

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