In Defence of Adultery by Julia Copus

In Defence of Adultery

by Julia Copus

We don't fall in love: it rises through us

the way that certain music does--

whether a symphony or ballad--

and it is sepia-coloured,

like split tea that inches up

the tiny tube-like gaps inside

a cube of sugar lying by a cup.

Yes, love's like that: just when we least

needed or expected it

a part of us dips into it

by chance or mishap and it seeps

through our capillaries, it clings

inside the chambers of the heart.

We're victims, we say: mere vessels,

drinking the vanilla scent

of this one's skin, the lustre

of another's eyes so skilfully

darkened with bistre. And whatever

damage might result we're not

to blame for it: love is an autocrat

and won't be disobeyed.

Sometimes we manage

to convince ourselves of that.

I have always loved bad girl poems, and this one fits the bill, while also seeming to be a call-back to Sappho's "It's No Use," posted here.

This poem is from an anthology, The Forward book of poetry: a collection of the best poems of the year from the Forward Poetry Prizes. It's from 2004, and was given to me by my brother, who lived in England for a short while with his family.

What do I specifically love about this poem?

Let's start with the first two lines.

We don't fall in love: it rises through us

the way that certain music does

Pretty bold, arguing against the old idiom of "falling in love" in a poem about cheating! It's as if her defense of adultery is to go on the offense . . . And it is a wonderful metaphor, and much more romantic than falling--a feeling that moves through the body like a song. We all know that reaction to a piece of music that moves us so deeply we feel as if we are physically changed.

The next metaphor is visual--this type of love is sepia, that old-fashioned photo color. But Copus gives us a very different image, that of tea-stained sugar cubes. Again, here there is also rising--the color "inches up." (I had to look up "split tea." It is a tea bag that is perforated so that you can use it for two cups of tea . . . or to share with the person you are cheating with.

The poem gets more defensive as it goes. In the next section, readers are assured that this cheater did not need or expect this love--it was due to "chance or mishap," like losing an earring or stubbing a toe. And then that pesky love "clings"--such a great word to use here. Something clinging is annoying, difficult to remove, and probably unwanted.

Next comes the "blame Aphrodite" part--we are victims! Then, and I like to think the poet was having a bit of fun here, we are "mere vessels"--like those people who say that writing poetry isn't work. They are just vessels of the Muses, or God, or the universe. (Psychics and some other creatives say this as well.)

There are more descriptions to back up the speaker's arguments--that person'[s skin! that one's eyes! implying victimhood (I could not resist).

The last section is a doubling down on "blame Aphrodite": the damage the affair causes. The speaker cleverly doesn't get into specifics here--sense of betrayal, divorce, confusion of children, etc. And why would she? She, speaking for all of those who have had affairs, is not to be blamed--it is love's fault.

And right there, you may be thinking, well, she's right. People cannot help it if they find themselves in love with someone they are not married to/involved with.

But there is that last sentence. In just two lines, the speaker betrays her own argument:

Sometimes we manage

to convince ourselves of that.

So, is this a poem arguing for or against affairs? I don't think it is actually either. It is just a speaker laying down facts as she sees them, and having to admit, in the end, that there is some shaky ground on which her defense stands. And this is what I like about it, as well as many other poems--it does not claim to have THE TRUTH. It does not say everything is this way or that way and there are no other ways. Poetry dwells in possibility, to paraphrase Emily Dickinson--it presents stuff (I am using this vague word purposefully here) and leaves it up to the reader to decide on a truth. Or to realize there is not one truth. Or any truth.

Julia Copus also writes children's books and non-fiction. This poem was first published in a collection of poetry called In Defence of Adultery (Bloodaxe Books, 2003).