Week's End - Ode to Rome

John Keats died in Rome on 23 February 1821. I may not post next week but could not let the occasion pass without comment. As reported previously, I have embarrassed at least one relative in the Keats-Shelley House & at the Protestant cemetery. I feel less an idiot upon reading that no less a personage than Oscar Wilde prostrated himself for 25 minutes at the grave. (I'm making my way--at last--through Andrew Motion's biography of Keats.)

Giampaolo Macorig's beautiful photograph would have been Keats's view as he walked on the Pincio those last few months. The image of his signature is from the Keats-Shelley House & the organization's website is looking quite spiffy these days; do take a virtual visit. It's very much a destination for writers (& others) living in & visiting Rome. The story of the acquisition of the house is one of cooperation among Anglophones in Rome. (For once. Ahem.)

And finally, here is a sweet article I just saw in the Observer by a reporter who went to Rome with his girlfriend--in search of Romance (& Keats). It has a much happier ending than that of John & Fanny.

Update: Thursday, 25 Feb. (Read in whiny voice.) If we don't lose power (again!), I'll be back next week. Maybe Saturday.

Magic Casements

Poetry should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance. --John Keats

"Oh fer cryin' out loud, stop with the Keats." Well, no. I was rereading the odes last night, particularly Nightingale...& it's his birthday. What a good excuse to put in some stills from Jane Campion's Bright Star. (The blueandpurple is swoony.) Click on the Bright Star link...it's Jane Campion's interactive production site--storyboards, rehearsal video, production design images, & the like. I still search for photographs of the director's cat, Topper who plays, well, the Cat. (He's a brilliant scene stealer.)

From today's The Writer's Almanac:

It's the birthday of the poet John Keats, (books by this author) born in London (1795), who was just starting his career as a poet in 1818 when a series of brutally negative reviews of his first two books appeared. And then, that same year, Keats learned that his brother was dying of tuberculosis. Keats spent the last few months of 1818 taking care of his brother, who died a few weeks before Christmas. In the wake of his brother's death, Keats moved into a duplex with a friend, and in the other half of the duplex lived a beautiful 18-year-old girl named Fanny Brawne, who became the love of his life. He declared his love to her soon after they met, but he decided not to marry her until he'd secured his reputation as a great poet.

Week's End - To Autumn

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?/ Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,

--John Keats, complete poem...

Oh no, another Keats post? You bet. Thank you, Jane Campion, for your new film Bright Star. I heard high school students talking this afternoon & the word 'Keats' floated through the air between them. This wasn't in a school building.

Keats arrived in Rome (via Naples) 21 October 1820; the ship was quarantined & he did not arrive in Rome until 15 November. Though he did not write poetry in what were to be his last months, he wrote one letter, to his friend Charles Brown. It's heartbreaking, especially the last two lines. "...I can scarcely bid you good bye even in a letter. I always made an awkward bow."

The photographs are from the Keats-Shelley House near the Spanish Steps; the salon & Keats' bedroom. In these very rooms & at the Protestant Cemetery, I have disgraced myself several times with squeaky sniffs. Once, I embarrassed a younger sister & have not yet been forgiven. Ever after, I have visited alone.

A lovely weekend to all. (Sniff.)

Lungo Tevere by Giampaolo Macorig via flickr; Keats-Shelley House photographs by frattaglia via flickr; Protestant Cemetery, Keats' grave by Piero Montesacro via wikimedia commons.