Oh, I love Keats. What a pleasure to read. The one time I was in Rome it was May and there were so many flowers all up and down the Spanish Steps and I stood there for ages thinking of Keats (he died nearby) and the intensity of his creativity and the way he saw the beauty and pain of the world in equal measure.
River, I needed this. The heaving bush, the roadside violets, the mourning dove that gives so much but not herself, the ripened fruit of the autumn poem. I think I feel that skinless sensory responsiveness in your voice that cracked me open and returned me to myself.
This week has been so hard in such mundane (but not?) ways—COVID raging through the household, the creep of an ED relapse, an encounter with an inner exile that ravaged my body like a storm right before I descended into a week of sickness. I woke up this morning knowing I need to put down distractions and return to my body to avert a full blown ED relapse, and the quality of your voice in this piece—newborn and sensorily alive—was exactly the invitation I needed. Sorry to make this so personal, but also, thank you 🙂
I'm taking from this your line, "Nothing in this world can be had in the way we've been taught to want it," as a succinct reminder, and a glimpse of how to let the beauty and horror and truth of this place be -- even to honor it. Thank you.
In some subtle and beautiful ways I think Negative Capability also opens the door for Meaning within the sphere of a lived existence to return. Lovely read. Thank you
Oh, I love Keats. What a pleasure to read. The one time I was in Rome it was May and there were so many flowers all up and down the Spanish Steps and I stood there for ages thinking of Keats (he died nearby) and the intensity of his creativity and the way he saw the beauty and pain of the world in equal measure.
River, I needed this. The heaving bush, the roadside violets, the mourning dove that gives so much but not herself, the ripened fruit of the autumn poem. I think I feel that skinless sensory responsiveness in your voice that cracked me open and returned me to myself.
This week has been so hard in such mundane (but not?) ways—COVID raging through the household, the creep of an ED relapse, an encounter with an inner exile that ravaged my body like a storm right before I descended into a week of sickness. I woke up this morning knowing I need to put down distractions and return to my body to avert a full blown ED relapse, and the quality of your voice in this piece—newborn and sensorily alive—was exactly the invitation I needed. Sorry to make this so personal, but also, thank you 🙂
I'm taking from this your line, "Nothing in this world can be had in the way we've been taught to want it," as a succinct reminder, and a glimpse of how to let the beauty and horror and truth of this place be -- even to honor it. Thank you.
I’ve taught this poem for the undergraduate students @ Mazoon College, Muscat, Oman.
Inspiring me to read some Keats now 🤩
In some subtle and beautiful ways I think Negative Capability also opens the door for Meaning within the sphere of a lived existence to return. Lovely read. Thank you