Keats was introduced to me by someone who said he possessed as pure a poet's mind as any there ever was. I didn't see it at the time. In my youth I had reserved that spot for Frost.
After reading many of Keats' letters I've discovered what it was that caused my mentor to make such a statement.
All worthwhile poetry points to the same spot, occupied sequentially by beauty, knowledge, sorrow and wisdom. I'm still searching.
Last edited by Jim Moonan; 03-03-2017 at 06:47 PM.
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