Valentine, by John Fuller
The things about you I appreciate
may seem indelicate:
I’d like to find you in the shower
and chase the soap for half an hour.
I’d like to have you in my power
and see your eyes dilate.
I’d like to have your back to scour
and other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
to chase you screaming up a tower
or make you cower
by asking you to differentiate
Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
I’d like successfully to guess your weight
and win you at a fete.
I’d like to offer you a flower.
I like the hair upon your shoulders
falling like water over boulders.
I like the shoulders, too: they are essential.
Your collar-bones have great potential
(I’d like all your particulars in folders
I like your cheeks, I like your nose,
I like the way your lips disclose
the neat arrangement of your teeth
(half above and half beneath)
I like your eyes, I like their fringes.
The way they focus on me gives me twinges.
Your upper arms drive me berserk
I like the way your elbows work,
I like your wrists, I like your glands,
I like the fingers on your hands.
I’d like to teach them how to count,
and certain things we might exchange,
something familiar for something strange.
I’d like to give you just the right amount
and give some change.
I like it when you tilt your cheek up.
I like the way you hold a teacup.
I like your legs when you unwind them,
even in trousers I don’t mind them.
I’d always know, without a recap,
where to find them.
I like the sculpture of your ears.
I like the way your profile disappears
Whenever you decide to turn and face me.
I’d like to cross two hemispheres
and have you chase me.
I’d like to smuggle you across frontiers
or sail with you at night into Tangiers.
I’d like you to embrace me.
I’d like to see you ironing your skirt
and cancelling other dates.
I’d like to button up your shirt.
I like the way your chest inflates.
I’d like to soothe you when you’re hurt
or frightened senseless by invertebrates.
I’d like you even if you were malign
and had a yen for sudden homicide.
I’d let you put insecticide
into my wine.
I’d even like you if you were the Bride
or something ghoulish out of Mamoulian’s
Jekyll and Hyde.
I’d even like you as my Julian
of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan.
if you were something muttering in attics
like Mrs Rochester or a student of Boolean
You are the end of self-abuse.
You are the eternal feminine.
I’d like to find a good excuse
to call on you and find you in.
I’d like to put my hand beneath your chin,
and see you grin.
I’d like to taste your Charlotte Russe,
I’d like to feel my lips upon your skin,
I’d like to make you reproduce.
I’d like you in my confidence.
I’d like to be your second look.
I’d like to let you try the French Defence
and mate you with my rook.
I’d like to be your preference
I’d like to be around when you unhook.
I’d like to be your only audience,
the final name in your appointment book,
your future tense.
this is one of the most honest love poems I have ever read.
Portraits from my last shoot with Rick, January 2014.
There so much I wanna say.
Rick Ochoa was a 41 year old artist in NYC, he was an amazing photographer and even better friend. He showed kindness and generosity to anyone whose path crossed his. His death has effected so many people.
I first worked with Rick almost 4 years ago, I was still fairly green to modeling but I guess he saw something. Our first shoot I would honestly say was more a miss then a hit, but that was mostly my fault. In the beginning I thought I needed to be what other people wanted me to be.
After alot of inward contemplation I looked at Ricks work again with more desertion and thought about how his work reflected him.
I told Rick what I thought about his work, If you knew him, you knew Rick was a spaz, he had a million thoughts a minute and had a hard time resting on a single thing and his job was hectic and stressful (although he loved it)
Ricks work was this: He capture, this quiet gentle moments, he was drawn to women who had a mystery to them. Beguiling in nature. My favorite work of his was the wisps of hair, the gentle focus. He captured the gentleness, the beauty that everyone possessed. He could find the beauty in everyone. I think he found his peaceful moments through being a photographer, I think he emulated the quiet peace he wanted in his life, as apposed to the chaos that his mind often was, not in the sense that he was troubled, but in the sense that I think he had so much more to tell us and share with us, but finding the right way was hard.
Rick hugged me tightly after I told him what I thought of his work, “It’s the nicest thing anyones every said about my work”
Rick was nothing short of spectacular and the loss of him not only is a loss to the community but to his friends and family.
Anyone who had the chance to work with Rick or even just to talk to him, my heart goes out to you.
This hurts so much and I can’t stop thinking about all the time I spent with him, all the laughs, the food, the whiskey. Wishing I had more time with but so happy I got what I did.
please go enjoy his amazing work
Celebrate his memory by doing the things you love to do.
"All we have is time and then it’s gone"
I fucking miss you dude.
I worked with him the first time in 2012, and I think that was the first time I ever felt truly collaborative with a photographer. I had a particular song in mind when I was getting ready for that shoot, and when he went to put on music, that is the very song he played with no prompting whatsoever. It was a really wonderful moment of synchronicity. We were supposed to have worked for only two hours that day but ended up shooting, drinking Jameson, talking jazz and art and the Sandman long into the night, and I left feeling so touched and happy.
He had such an unusual gift for seeing light, and for capturing intimacy. It feels so strange, so incredibly unreal, that I’ll never dance around in the shadows in front of his camera again. We’ve talked about so many projects that will never come to be.
I have our community of artists, his friends and his family all in my thoughts.
And Rick, man - I hope Death was as foxy as she looks in the pictures when she took you by the hand, and I hope she lead you somewhere beautiful.
Raising my glass to you.
"To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and to the seasons of mist - and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due."