Don't Smoke in Bed & A Poem About the Assassination of a Heart

One of my favourite songs is "Don't Smoke in Bed." I'm not sure why this song resonates with me, because I do not smoke and am unlikely to be romantically involved with someone that does smoke. Nevertheless, there is something wonderfully touching about the lyrics of this song. Even as the narrator is leaving her husband, she still cares for him, she still reminds him not to smoke in bed.

My favourite version is of course the one by Nina Simone, whom I've mentioned on this blog before (see here and here).

Apart from Nina Simone, the other person with whom the song is probably usually associated is Peggy Lee. I especially like the instrumentation in this version.



Patti Smith, the musician partly responsible for the punk rock genre, also does a riviting performance of this old jazz classic.



A more upbeat version in a lounge jazz style is performed by the Eddie Higgins Trio. You might be excused for getting up and dancing to this tune. The trio consists of piano, guitar and bass.



k.d. lang with her beautiful voice provides a beautiful full sounding version, but I do miss the rawness that one hear in Simone and Smith.




In around 2008 my then girlfriend and I broke up after somewhat of a tumultuous emotional period in our relationship. Shortly before we broke up I wrote her the poem below. In the poem the narrator speaks of his lover as an assassin of hearts that will soon come to murder (i.e. break) his heart and in so doing be the cause of his death. At the end of the poem I realised that I needed there to be a personal touch--a loving "don't smoke in bed". After sometime I added the line: "Don't forget to water the flowers"--the idea being that flowers are a symbol of romantic love and by caring for the flowers she will keep his remembrance and symbolically keep their love alive after his passing. In a strange way this poem I wrote was influenced by this song "Don't Smoke in Bed". Basically they have the same themes and tell the same story of broken hearts and separation. Soon afterwards I moved to Korea.

Throughout the night I battle sleep
(my fists broken       my temples bleeding
my knees and elbows chafed from fighting)
lest, like a calamity, the morning breaks
open like an egg       a skull       a heart stuffed
to the brim with love (that undaunted
heartless threatening damned type of love).

And now, as the day comes crawling
(my heart’s assassination on the agenda;
it will, I’m sure, be done with a knife)
and I have little fighting spirit left, I beg you
my love, be swift. I have already
both my stubborn shirt and chest
ripped open (I trust you’ll appreciate it).

My love, both my heart and I am ready
on this day (please don’t torture me further!)
to die enthusiastically an enormous death.
The angels (my guardian angel and yours)
are standing on their marks for a farewell number
(a necro-duet) to call me to the Big Slumber.

Don’t forget to water the flowers.

'n Gedig aan my X

Image Source

Toe jy verwagtend was

Ek wens ek was daar
toe jou maag volmaan rond
en vol lewe -- nuwe bloedjonklewe -- was
en jou borsies sappige geswolle
melkvrugte -- vrugte van die Boom van die Lewe -- was
en jou heupe oorlopens toe vol lewe was
en jy soos 'n amoeba te veel lewe gehad het
en twee lewens -- jy en 'n splinternuwe jy -- geword het.

Ek wens ek was daar
en dat ek daar saam met jou -- albei van jou -- gelewe het.

Ek verlang

Ek moet bieg dat ek verlang nie na Suid-Afrika nie. In al die jare wat ek in Korea bly het ek nooit benoemenswaardige huimweë gehad nie. Ja ek verlang op tye na geliefdes, maar nie na Suid-Afrika as ’n plek nie. Wel dit is, tot onlangs. Die laaste week of so het ’n grootskaalse verlange na ’n baie spesifieke aspek van Suid-Afrika my getakel met ’n driflike ywer, naamlik die Afrikaanse kunskultuur. Dit was nie tot twee dae gelede dat ek met iemand in Suid-Afrika gesels het en die persoon aan my onthul het dat Aardklop Kunstefees aan die gang was die afgelope week, dat ek bewus was van die onlangse kunsinnige joligheid in my “buurt” nie. Op ’n interesante intuïtiewe manier het ek op ’n metafisiese vlak geskakel met daardie kreatiewe gees wat in Potchefstroom gevibreer het. So erg was my verlange na hierdie kreatiewe Afrikaanse-subkultuur dat ek vir my twee Afrikaanse plate vanaf Rhythm Music Store (mymusiek.co.za) afgelaai het: Van Coke Kartel se “Skop, Skiet en Donner” en Glaskas se “Revolusie Romantiek Ruk en Rol,” waarna ek met lekker geesdriftigheid die laaste paar dae luister.



Die persoon met wie ek telefonies gepraat het, was my X. Dit ook heeltemal toeval nadat ek net die vorige uur met ’n oudkollega gesels het oor verhoudings en hoe moeilik dit vir my is om iemand te vind wat by my pas. Om ’n meisie te kry is nie moeilik nie, maar om werklik iemand te kry wat by ’n mens pas, wie versoenbaar is met jou leefwyse, godskonsep, diëetvoorkeure, waardes, ensomeer, is glad nie maklik nie. Gedurende die gesprek met my oudkollega het ek gepeins oor hoe verbasend goed ek en X, wat die voorgenoemde aspekte betref, gepas het. ’n Hoofrede hoekom ons verhouding nie gewerk het nie, is ’n ou tema in my liefdelewe – slegte tydsberekening. Ek het reeds die werk in Korea aanvaar nog voordat ons ernstig geraak het; gevolglik was ons afsonderlike lewens nie genoegsaam in pas met mekaar om ’n verhouding te laat werk nie. Ons het aanvanklik die langafstandding oorweeg, maar dit het duidelik geraak dat dit, onder huidige omstandighede, nie werkbaar was nie.

My gesprek met haar was beslis nie beplan nie. Ek het eintlik haar grootouers geskakel, my “aangenome” ouma en oupa. Sy was ter loops by hulle huis terwyl hulle uit was (hulle het ’n Aardklopvertoning gaan kyk) en het toevallig die telefoon geantwoord. Met haar “hello” en my “hello” was daar onmiddelike weedersydse herkenning, ’n oomblik se hartklop-misklop, en gelyktydige verassingsvolle “haai!-hoe-gaan-dit-met-jou!” Dit was ’n heerlike vrolike gesprek omtrent mekaar se welstand, doen-en-late, en eventueel ook liefdeslewe. Die afwesigheid van enige romantiese aktiwiteit in mekaar se lewens het ’n vreemde gelukkigheid in beide aanhoorder van hierdie “slegte” nuus te weeg gebring: “Ek is so bly om te hoor dat jy ’n droeë liefdeslewe het en ek bedoel dit op ’n mooi manier.” Tyd het ou wonde genoegsaam genees dat ons in mekaar se telefoniese geselskap slegs die mooi dinge kon onthou en na sowat veertigminute van uiters aangename gesprekvoering—ou vriende wat weer opvang, lou kole wat weer vlamvat—’n nasmakie kon hê van die goeie tye toe ons nog bronstigverlief was.

Ek mis Suid-Afrika.

Priorities

“Are you married?”

“No,”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No,”

“ . . . “

“I don’t have enough time.”

“Time is a very relative concept.”

“Sure.”

“It’s all about priorities.”

“Yeah, I work during the day and do martial arts at night. So I guess these are my priorities.”

So went the conversation between my pharmacist and I. This short interaction distilled a big issue between my X and I. We had a number of quibbles related to time. In South Africa, my part time position at the university resulted in me having nice pockets of free time during the day. However, I had to augment my income with teaching martial art classes in the evening. My X, on the other hand, had little free time during the day, but ample free time in the evenings. The only time we could really spend together was at night when I did not teach Taekwon-Do and there was an unspoken expectation that I ought to reduce my evening activities so that we could have more time together. I was, however, not willing to do that. Teaching martial arts was not merely an extra income for me; it is a passion. Martial arts are a way of life for me.

“It’s all about priorities,” said the pharmacist, and he is correct. The martial arts is a main priority in my life. It is in part why I am in Korea. I currently train in three martial arts (Taekwon-Do, Hapkido and Brazilian Jiu-jitsu) and would have added two more (Taekkyeon and Gomdo – sword fencing) if I could fit them in. Lest I find a future partner that either shares my passion for the martial arts (so that we could do it together) or respects it enough to allow me to do it, I very much doubt I will have a lasting relationship.

While having dinner with Master George Vitale a month or two ago the two of us where speaking excitedly about the martial arts. Sometime during our conversation he dropped: “This is why I’m not married. They all get tired of it sooner or later.” It is not impossible. I am friends with a married couple who teach Taekwon-Do together; since it is a shared passion it works perfectly fine. I also have another friend whose wife is not into the martial arts but we actively support him in his passion. She would often urge him to go to training. I don’t know if she just enjoys the lone time or if she truly cares so much for him that she finds joy out of knowing that he is doing the thing he enjoys. Both these examples are relationships I find quite enviable.

“It’s all about priorities.”