No one knows what really goes on in a marriage…
…writes
And I would add, “including the two spouses.”
It sounds facetious and it is, but underneath it’s really not. I’ve looked at marriage and divorce from so many perspectives and for so many years: as student lawyer for a legal services clinic serving indigent clients (boy, now that was a long time ago), friend and relative (both observer and confidante), student of relationships, couples counselor, couples therapy consumer, divorced woman after 31 years of marriage, dater of divorced men and witness to their stories, blogger writing about it (am I leaving anything out? Don’t think so.) And after all this I can safely say that the more I know the less I know.
So let’s go to poetry—on love, hate, and destruction, read by a man who knew a bit about the aforementioned three things, as well as divorce:
And by the way, for contrast, here’s Frost reading the same poem. Quite different:
“… dater of divorced men and witness to their stories…”
What? Where? Tell all!
the person you marry is not the person you divorce
Leonard Cohen: Two went to sleep
david foster: and then there’s this one and this.
There’s this dark view, or this by-now-sorely-needed lighter one.
Being on my third marriage (we were both in our forties and Deekawife 3.0 had never been married before), I’ve learned much about the failure of marriage and little about how is succeeds.
Fire and Ice indeed. The passion and desire wanes with time (it does not mean there is no “love”, it just means the kitchen table survives to see another day). And as Artfldgr tells us, one does divorce a different person than one marries. And if we are honest, we admit the person we divorced sees us in the same light. We DO change over time. It is, I think adapting both to our own change and that of our spouse that holds things together. Recognizing that there is something that brought us together may not be enough. What keeps us there?
The third try has been so far-so good. I’m not doing this again.
Frost may have written this poem, but his reading of it left me cold.
as ice.