Great spirits now on earth are sojourning…

Keats3An excerpt from AUTOBIOGRAPHY by Benjamin Robert Hayden

KEATS

About this time (October 1816) I met John Keats at Leigh Hunt’s, and was amazingly interested by him prematurity of intellectual and poetical power.

I read one or two of his sonnets and formed a very high idea of his genius. After a short time I liked him so much that a general invitation on my part followed, and we became extremely intimate. He visited my painting-room at all times, and at all times was welcome.

He was below the middle size, with a low forehead and an eye that had an inward look, perfectly divine, like a Delphian priestess who saw visions. The greatest calamity for Keats was his being brought before the world by a set who had so much the habit of puffing each other that every one connected with it suffered in public estimation. Hence every one was inclined to disbelieve his genius. …

One evening (November 19, 1816) after a most eager interchange of thoughts I received from Keats his sonnet, beginning “Great spirits now on earth are sojourning.” I thanked him, and he wrote, “Your letter has filled me with a proud pleasure, and shall be kept by me as a stimulus to exertion. I begin to fix my eye on one horizon. The idea of your sending it to Wordsworth puts me out of breath. You know with what reverence I would send my well wishes to him.”

As I was walking one day with him in the Kilburn meadows, he said: “Haydon, what a pity it is there is not a human dusthole.”

Bright-Star-movies-9133146-1600-1000KeatsTLS: When did Keats become a great writer? Ask Gigante

Hear sexy Tom Hiddleston read Bright Star here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vlIXu9C3Hw

Wiederkehr

 

rain

Wiederkehr

He only wanted me for happiness,
to walk in air
and not think so much,
to watch the smile
begun in his eyes
end on the lips
his eyes caressed.

He merely hoped, in darkness, to smell
rain; and though he saw how still
I sat to hold the rain untouched
inside me, he never asked
if I would stay. Which is why,
when the choice appeared,
I reached for it.

~Rita Dove

Demeter, Waiting…

IMG_2276

No. Who can bear it. Only someone
who hates herself, who believes
to pull a hand back from a daughter’s cheek
is to put love into her pocket–like one of those ashen Christian
philosophers, or a war-bound soldier.

winter

She is gone again and I will not bear
it, I will drag my grief through a winter
of my own making, refuse
any meadow that recycles itself into
hope. Shit on the cicadas, dry meteor
flash, finicky butterflies. I will wail and thrash
until the whole goddamned golden panorama freezes
over. Then I will sit down and wait for her. Yes.

~ Rita Dove, Demeter, Waiting

Images: Emilia Clarke, my edits
and Winter image via Pinterest

Book of the Dead, Prayer 14

Good-bye,
try to stay awake now you’re dead.
Look hard at those demons
and don’t be afraid.
All the bright lights and bells
are yourself returning
from wandering.
Try to look at them.
What terrifies
you must be beautiful.
I won’t cry, make you sad.
If you embrace these assaults you’ll be free.
But of course you are frightened.
Hair stiffens
all over you. So you’ll fall
back down to us, back
into another dying body.
So I’ll see you again.
Maybe without knowing you,
also knowing.
I tell you so you won’t worry.
Try to stay awake.

~Mei-Mei Berssenbrugge

Welcome to the start of the 13 Days of Halloween. Visit for the next 13 days to get your scare on…
click image above for artist’s link

The Soul Selects

The Soul Selects

The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.

Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s pausing
At her low gate;
Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling
Upon her mat.

I’ve known her from an ample nation
Choose one:
Then close the valves of her attention
Like stone.

~Emily Dickinson
Caricature by GJ Southwell

“I dwell in possibility…”~E.D.

Emily Dickinson, Poems about Words, via Voices of Education Project

(Vivian Song/The Epoch Times)

“I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.”~E.D.

Emily Dickinson’s garden Herbarium – via Poets.org

Much Madness Is Divinest Sense

Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
‘Tis the majority
In this, as all, prevails.
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur, – you’re straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.

The daguerreotype (love that word – dare you to say it write it three times…) of Emily Dickinson, 1847, by William C. North.

…in her own handwriting…
via: Wild Nights! Wild Nights!

“My friends are my estate.”~E.D.

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain,
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

“Forever is composed of nows” – E.D.

Home of Emily Dickinson, Amherst, Massachusetts via Red Ravine

Drawing by Leland Myrick via First Second Books