Completely Subjective: Alex Dimitrov’s “Love”
Optimists are some of the scariest people out there. Not the kind that see the glass half full or see the greener grass on their side of life. I’d go as far as identifying myself with that kind of optimist (occasionally). No, I’m referring to those who see the glass half overflowing, those who seem to be ecstatic day in and day out, those who are oh so chipper at seven in the morning, those who make me want to do nothing but run out the nearest door and find a half-empty glass to hurl at them. (How many times can you use a metaphor before it becomes overly redundant? Three strikes and you’re out, I suppose).
Those types of optimists may just have a greater understanding of love than I, and I appreciate that. Personally, I believe that love and appreciation go hand in hand, a theme that is central to American poet Alex Dimitrov in his fittingly-titled poem “Love.”
Alex Dimitrov was born on November 30th, 1984, and is currently living in New York City. I don’t know much about his early life besides him spending his formative years and early adulthood in Los Angeles, but his poems went on to win multiple awards, including the Stanley Kunitz Prize from the American Poetry Review, an annual poetry award for poets under the age of 40. Dimitrov has published multiple books of poetry, including two popular releases of his, Begging for It and Love and Other Poems. He has been known to take lots of inspiration from his surroundings, taking pride in the authenticity that both Los Angeles and New York City seem to have (I can only assume that an abundance of pigeons, busy streets and the smell of bad air quality appeal to Dimitrov in some way), and adding that authenticity and admiration into his poetry, which brings me to “Love.”
Dimitrov’s “Love” is a poem made up of a catalog of things he loves, employing anaphoric repetition by beginning each sentence with the words “I love.” He takes readers on a journey, illustrating all sorts of things he loves and takes a moment to appreciate and highlight each one, all shortened to a compact phrase. Dimitrov’s love isn’t solely romantic; it’s multifaceted, drawing on the small moments he writes about as a way of connecting with the reader. Whether it’s “the feeling of nothing but relief during the chorus of a song,” or “the beach on a cloudy day,” or even “Paris for being Paris,” his perspective inspires those reading his poetry to slow down their lives, take a look around, and most importantly, practice mindfulness. This is the type of poem that soothes the soul; perhaps it’s just the pure humanitarianism it conveys. Through his catalog of things he loves, readers can feel identified, see what is so essentially human about taking moments to really process what is around them, and to exude openness, especially in moments they may have otherwise missed (that line about “relief upon reaching the chorus of a song” really hit home for me).
I like to think that I am full of love. I really do try to approach everything I do with a positive mindset, one that finds the “love” in everything I see and do. Just the other day, while drafting up some emails to send to some colleges I’m visiting, my college counsellor scolded me for including the word “love” too many times in them. “It’s too much,” she scolded. While from a diction standpoint, she may have been right, I don’t believe that there can be a thing as too much love, even when it comes to a poem that has nine pages of it.
One of my favorite activities is yoga. In years with a less overbearing workload, I’d try to go at least once or twice a week, as it helps give my mind time to rest. There’s something so soothing about sitting in a room, perfectly still, letting all your thoughts pass you by like commuters on the interstate. You reach a sort of equilibrium with the world, one that lets you dissect your thoughts and connect with yourself on a deeper level than if you were to just be sitting in your room or buried in your work. Just like Dimitrov in his poem, I find myself becoming more appreciative of what surrounds me, of the world I get to live in just by chance, of the things I’ve seen, the places I’ve gone. Yoga allows me an outlet to reflect on the wonderful things I love, and that’s why I love yoga. And why stop with yoga?
I love the way the keychains on my backpack sound when they clash together. I love the way my fingertips feel on my keyboard when I type. I love finding a new song to put on repeat for the next five weeks. I loved writing this article, even if this is a “cheap” way to end it. I chose not to see it that way; instead, I love the way I chose to end it, because looking at the bright side (or the glass half full– that’s four uses of the metaphor, so I guess I’m out), I loved every moment of the process.
I really loved this piece 🥰