Love’s great boundary

I see  this house where you once lived with me
 I cannot hear your voice in any room,
I touch the  cushions,rugs and tapestry

I feel the silky sheets  my eye can see.
The silken scarves,the necklaces of blue
I see  this house where you once lived with me

The trees  bend in the wind, they cannot flee
Their little twigs and branches   softly croon
I touch the   well embroidered tapestry

The silence is the  lack  that makes me free
The other senses gratified, stll bloom
I see the sofa, marriage bed  indeed

No voice but mine  is heard , oh loss obscene
All I see is blackness  and faint moon
The cushions  comfort me ,oh heart bereaved

 

Yet all you gave is rich in my esteem
The wedding ring of gold  still has its gleam,
I  weep  at home where you once loved well me
I  flinch  then  rest  by love’s great boundary

 

 

 

Keats and negative capability

autumn autumn colours brown countryside
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

https://dalspace.library.dal.ca/bitstream/handle/10222/63097/dalrev_vol61_iss1_pp39_51.pdf?sequence=1

 

“When we look into Keats’s expressions of conflict between
imagination and reality we can see the roots of this conflict in the
problem of identity. Keats wrote about the sunset, the sparrow, the
mythological figure as if he had lost his identity in the object. He
experienced these identifications sometimes with a sense of discovery
and sometimes with fear or irritability. Eventually, Keats began to see
that his identity would not be maddened by his imagination and could
be strengthened by it. He realized, in other words, “that a not inconsiderable increase in psychical efficiency” can result “from a disposition
which in itself is perilous.” In-the four years we know Keats as a letter
writer and a poet, we can see the development of his capacity for
retaining a sense of identity even when seized by powerful or seductive
visions. This is the development–the turning of a weakness into a
strength, both as artist and as man-that accounts for many apparent
contradictions in Keats’s thought. The language of negative capability
has been difficult because it suggests a puzzling oxymoron- a negative
and a positive. The figure presents two aspects of a dual process, the
first part of which, in its partial renunciation of control, can be felt as a
negative, while the second, or alternating, state recreates and is felt as a
capability. The c reative process in some of its operations posed
dangers for Keats’!; identity. But by the spring of 1819, the period of the
great odes, there appears a new strength in the second aspect of
negative capabilily imagination”

No mind? Keats’ letters

book opened on top of white table beside closed red book and round blue foliage ceramic cup on top of saucer
Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

http://numerocinqmagazine.com/2014/01/14/keats-and-identity-the-chameleon-in-the-crucible-patrick-j-keane/

“Keats wrote his friend John Hamilton Reynolds on 18 February 1818: “Now it is more noble to sit like Jove tha[n] to fly like Mercury—let us not therefore go hurrying about and collecting honey-bee-like, buzzing here and there impatiently from a knowledge of what is to be arrived at; but let us open our leaves like a flower and be passive and receptive—budding patiently under the eye of Apollo, and taking hints from every noble insect that favors us with a visit” (Letters 1:232-33).

Such hints should be accepted gratefully, not least because they are creatively productive (As Blake put it, using “Keatsian” imagery: “The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.”) To irritably reject them because they cannot be fitted into a larger scheme—“knowledge of what is to be arrived at,” a system of one’s own making—amounts to an egoistic assertion and projection of one’s own identity. Of Dilke, “disquisition” with whom launched these thoughts, Keats later said he “was a Man who cannot feel he has a personal identity unless he has made up his mind about every thing. The only means of strengthening one’s intellect is to make up one’s mind about nothing—to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts…Dilke will never come at a truth as long as he lives; because he is always trying at it.” (Letters 2:21)”

Driving  over Beachy Head by car

The earth has turned to jelly while we slept
The world’s a  wobble,from the right to left
Noone knows what we can do
There’s a strange new strain of flu
Where is the old wisdom we dropped?

Unstable and ungracious  now, we are
Driving  over Beachy Head by car
We have got the sausage rolls
And we’ve brought our mobile phones
Ring me and you’ll hear me playing war

Soon  the death of  all the gods will pass
We worship lifeless objects  gold and brass
We worship  the ineptitude
And show we have no gratitude
For being at the top of every class

Everyone has got a big TV
Seeing what their neighbours  see
Watches  gold with dying sparks
Irritate the beggar’s   heart
Let’s deport him back to Bermondsey