by Ennis » Sat Apr 28, 2012 5:55 pm
Fitzgerald nailed it. Once Keats gets in your blood (so to speak, and "blood": poor choice of words. . . ), it's impossible to get him out. But who woud want to, anyway? The whole Keats Syndrome is so Keastsian iitself: that whole contrast of light and dark; it's such a thrill to read him or about him, but it also hurts. Or at least it does me. Knowing one will never have the joy, the opportunity of knowing Keats in life, or any of his circle for that matter - not that I would ever (intellectually) stand any chance of fitting in. The letters, the biographies, and the film Bright Star are all we have (and of course, the poems). Maybe that's what the next life will be: fulfillment of our greatest dream(s). I just hope, as I get older, I don't develop some type of dementia that results in me forgetting anything about Keats. This is all to depressing. 'Bye.
"But if you will fully love me, though there may be some fire, 'twill not be more than we can bear when moistened and bedewed with Pleasures." JK to FB 08.07.1819