On this spring equinox, as we tilt back toward the light, here is a poem about love. In “The Eyes of Love,” Michael Tarabilda writes of not just any one type of love, but love as a mysterious, shape-shifting force of nature and spirit, both intimately specific and omnipresent. I’m drawn to the simple clarity with which this speaker tells his tale, and the ringing, koan-like contemplation of its final lines.
Tarabilda, who passed away last year, first took up poetry in the 1970s while living and traveling in Europe, and he continued writing prolifically for the next 50 years in Kennebunkport. He is missed for his wise and giddy euphoria for life, and he leaves us with poems that remind us of the strange and wondrous love all around us.
The Eyes of Love
By Michael Tarabilda
Let me become friends with love.
For years it has been following me
wherever I go.
It tries. It speaks to me so earnestly,
telling me things in rushed, hushed tones.
Love’s voice is heavy,
like a bear,
and deep, like a cavern.
Love speaks slowly, like a mountain
and is indistinct, like distant thunder.
Love walks with such light steps
it seems to dance.
When I see the stars
stitched to the sky,
I trace the features of love.
Once I called out to love in a friendly way.
It had changed before my eyes.
First I heard something—like a heart breaking—
then I saw love go all white
and misty like a blown dandelion.
Love comes and love goes,
as free as any spaniel to improvise.
Does this make the spaniel wise?
Look into its eyes.
Look into its eyes.
Megan Grumbling is a poet and writer who lives in Portland. Deep Water: Maine Poems is produced in collaboration with the Maine Writers & Publishers Alliance. “The Eyes of Love,” copyright © 2020 by Michael Tarabilda.
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