Dear John
It is long time since I thought about you; life has become more than adoration for a mere mask ... Adoration, yes, for on that day that I saw your death mask in an old, moldy book in the Public Library, your face touched my heart immediately and deeply. The beautiful curve of forehead and brow; the fine bone structure and the sensitivity of soft lips underneath the straight and splendid line of nose, took my breath away and moved the romantic and sensitive young girl that I was at that time!
I can remember how I stared at ear, eye and nostril, and thought: Now, in death, he hears, sees and smells perfectly. With my fingertip I traced the neat shell of ear, touched brow and lips. Of course I read all about you; how you suffered the losses of family, the failing relationship with your beloved Fanny, the jealousy of other writers. I went with you to Rome, to die of tuberculosis ... Yes. I saw your suffering; the blue of your lips when you gasped for breath. I was with you when you wrote: As last request, bury me under a tombstone reading, ''Here lies One Whose Name was writ in Water."
Ah. I can understand why your name was not to appear on that stone. You never truly lived in this world. But, I can also understand why Severn and Brown added the epitaph: "This Grave contains all that was mortal, of a YOUNG ENGLISH POET, who on his Death Bed, in the Bitterness of his heart, at the Malicious Power of his enemies, desired these words to be engraven on his Tomb Stone" ...
I, too, know the destructive power of those who do not wish to see the sun shine on another; I, too, know of the jealousy of those who will crush another without blinking an eye, only to gain worldly acclaim. Yes. Apt the lyre with its broken strings: your song ended prematurely, and too abruptly. Little did you know, however, that your words will grow in wonderful depth and perspective, loved by those who read and are still reading and those who saw and still truly see your greatness!
Beloved John, your words will move me always toward soft cry:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music: - Do I wake or sleep?
In wakenness or in dream, may your soul rest of the torture of life, forever.
Love,
Myra
Author notes
Posthumous portrait of John Keats (1795-1821) by William Hilton
Quote from: Ode to a Nightingale, by John Keats
"Keats wrote 150 poems, but those upon which his reputation rests were written in the span of nine months, from January to September 1819. This intense flowering of talent remains unparalleled in literary history."
http://englishhistory.net/keats/poetry.html
It was a common memorial practice at the time to make death masks. For those readers who want to see the death mask of Keats:
http://www.olemiss.edu/courses/engl309/deathmask.html
In a list
A contest entry
- Letters (But not to me) by pinksnowboots.
480 points, ended September 17, 77 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 33 of 33
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Greatness is not measured in historical contexts, but in the living flow of hearts moved. A wonderful tribute to Keats and a moving and revealing autobiographical piece as well.
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I can well understand the deep affection and admiration with which you write, he, seemingly always on the edge of life and death, was more an angel than a man, ever in search of truth and sunshine behind those clouds of sadness that came too soon to his tender heart.
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A great ode to John Keats. I enjoyed the read, it was a good letter!
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Amin
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; -
Beautiful. Just beautiful.
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Beautifull
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Ah yes, John Keats. One of those I can never imagine living to be old. That death mask would have stired and moved me also.
Enjoyed your write.
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passionate
This piece will always exite not just everybody but also, greatly, lovers of my best poet, John Keats. -
Nice
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Wow. Wow. That was stunning. "life has become more than adoration for a mere mask..." Stunning. And you wrote it to Keats! Amazing!
Write on.
~*~SP~*~
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Wow, great depiction of the power of an amazing writer! The greats do have that influence on us, don't they? Ahhh why do girls start wanting the poets after they're dead? Well I'm certainly going to look this guy's work up now... thanks for the inspiration!
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lovely and deeply felt. I like Keats, he has a special style. Keep the good work
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This is gourgous. Just flowing with colors and pictures, its beautiful!
Keep writing, you have talent
Thanks for sharing, have a good day!
x -
I love keats=)!!!!
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Wow. I think I fell in love with Keats all over again just reading this! How intense--I felt like I was in a library with an aged book in my hands, tracing a portrait of Keats and falling in love with words for the first time. I absolutely love the way you wrote this, the way you related to Keats and the overall intensity of it. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant!
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"Apt the lyre with its broken strings"--sublime words and wonderful prose. A fitting tribute to an unwilling master.
S
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A fabulous work
How does one critique a work like this that is so brilliantly written, so moving and which offers so many layers of wonderful images? This is a completely captivating work of the best prose I've read in a long time. It exudes pure love from start to finish. It's simply brilliant.
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Ah, someone else who loves the poetry of John Keats. He truly was a master poet. I enjoyed this very much. I must go and pull my book of his works off my shelf and read some of him now!
Keep it up!
Dan
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Very moving -- and informative
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I have to say I share your adoration of Keats. I love his poetry but I also love his letters, there's such thought in them and personality. I'm sure if I'd ever met him he'd have been disappointing but its nice to have a hero. I think this is a really heartfelt piece of writing with some expertly poignant moments. Well done. My favourite lines of Keats:
" That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;"
It always rings a bell in my mind. The wish to be somewhere else. -
moldy book in the Public Library, your face touched my heart immediately and deeply. This is pretty romantic this is very nice. Taking about soft lips taking his breath away this is a very pretty poem thank you for sharing Very enjoyable.
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I have not commented in anything for a very long time. I don't usually take the time to read anything that is too long, dang, i sure would have made a very big mistake if hadn't taken the time. Must your imagine spill from some magical quill, this is a fine piece, indeed, I must applaud.
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Well done, this was beautiful. I felt a strong sense of love in this letter. I really enjoyed reading it. I one day hope I can write half as well! Thank you for sharing.
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really good a fitting reminder of his romantic works, take care
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Very nice, unique, well done.
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I love the High Romantic style of your letter - a fitting tribute to one of the great Romantics of all time!
Excellent work,
Bill
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It really was excellent. Did you really see his death mask. The other day I read about these and I didn't even know it was ever a common practice. So strange how we all are uh. I really love what you wrote.
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This was a great letter to a great poet and the fact you fit parts of his literary
genius in it was very well done, thank was nice to read and thanks for sharing.
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so excellent a letter reflecting the profound impact an artist can have on the soul of another. thanks so much for sharing.
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This is a beautiful tribute with flowing imagery that lends an engaging poetic air to the letter. The quotes of his poetry that you chose fit seamlessly into your own words.
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beautiful
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Myra
My and now I look at poetry in a different way. How you touch upon the very meaning and essence of true poetry. You glorify the artist and the magical splendor of true poetry. Envy, one of those 7 capital sins, is now mine to bear. Excellent poet.
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This is awesome! I also learned a bit more about Keats!
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