For Brian Wilson and the music that keeps us alive
A Love Poem
On the Night of My Wedding
I’ll listen to Pet Sounds all the way through
in the dark, on vinyl, the way it was meant to be heard.
Lace around our ankles, your hand in mine—you
who I don’t yet know. You’re only a small part of this.
I’ll start crying at the start of “You Still Believe in Me,”
Brian’s voice dreamy, alone until the chorus. I know
perfectly well I’m not where I should be. I’ve been very
aware you’ve been patient with me. All this time alone,
all the lives before I met you. All my night thoughts,
fingers on the skin above my carotid artery, my fear
of dying in sleep, my fear of waking. You’ll know this
by now, these morbid patterns, these tangles of doubt
and guilt, obsession and compulsion. You see from outside,
my tense jaw, distant gaze, a motion repeated. I’ve been
with me all along. I wanna cry. Kept myself moving, alive.
I was in my twenties when I first realized that The Beach Boys were so much more than waterpark background music and the poppy Christmas songs my mom and I listened to as we decorated the tree each year in the windowed solarium, frost bordering the old panes so the houses across the street looked like framed paintings.
Brian Wilson, the genius behind the band’s signature orchestral pop, struggled with schizoaffective disorder and mild manic depression and spoke openly about how music was a sanctuary for him, drowning out his auditory hallucinations. Dealing with obsessive compulsive disorder myself, I loved learning about Brian’s relationship to music, how immersing yourself in art can insulate you from the brain’s affliction. I also adore how Brian’s music so delicately balances honesty and sentimentality. The album “Pet Sounds,” in particular is an immersive, emotional experience. There have been many theories about the album’s title, but my poem considers the idea of songs as pets—treasured creatures who comfort and ground us.
I wrote this poem before I met my husband Brad, before I’d even really imagined myself married to anyone. Looking back, I can chuckle at the drama of my single years, how it felt like an eternity before I met my lifetime love (Brian would be able to use a phrase like that in a lyric so earnest it cancels out the cheesiness). I had a few meaningful, short-lived romances and plenty of love from family and friends, but I had a deep desire for a partner, and I felt so lonely so much of the time.
The poem imagines a movement from singleness into marriage, but it’s not a love poem to a future husband. “On the Night of My Wedding” is a love poem to art, to my “pet sounds:” the songs that comforted me and carried me through the first three decades of my life. It’s also a love letter to myself, a celebration of my own strength. And of course, it’s a love letter to Brian, whose creativity and wisdom has been a balm and an inspiration. I wanted to share it today in honor of his life that meant so much to so many.
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Brad’s show “End of an Era” is currently on view at Abend Gallery in Denver! Can’t make it out to the gallery? See all the paintings here!
Oh. I see a chapbook in the works!
A bright light was definitely extinguished today, but his spirit will live on in his music. Thankfully.