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Sam wrote:
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(Although I concede that it could be that you just don't like the subject, period, or aren't in a particularly receptive mindset for it at this point in your life. For the past few days I've been trying to read a book of poems by someone who uses a lot of magical realism, and I've had to set it aside repeatedly because I just can't give this type of stuff a fair hearing while I'm dealing with certain unmagical goings-on in real life. Maybe next week...) |
What indeed is finally beautiful except death and love?
Julie, this is one of my favorite lines of Whitman. In fact, I used it as an epigraph for an appreciation of Whitman (which will be published in a few months, I gather). |
Death is not beautiful. It is tiresome though it does hang about like Coleridge's frightful friend. I think one subject very suitable for an old person is going crazy, or, as we English say, losing one's marbles. What rhymes with marbles?
I've forgotten if I ever knew. Garbles. That has possibilities. |
Just noticed we're not supposed to post links here. Withdrawn.
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Dammit, Jerome. Nice one.
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I'm not sure if death itself is beautiful, but laughing at it, defying it, mourning it, those things are beautiful, or can be. Best, Ed P.S. I regret missing Jerome's post before it was withdrawn. |
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Here it is, Ed. And a lovely one, too.
(Others can post links to friend's poems!) http://www.lightenup-online.co.uk/in...ar-consolation Bill, have you been sleeping on the job?? :) Just joking. This issue comes up every now and then. It's well-documented (if disputed, if undecided, if unclear) in many threads with poem input at GT, MoM, and elsewhere. |
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-Matt |
This poem is growing, Matt.
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