Jafabrit has Byron’s beautiful poem, she walks in beauty, in her post today, this is probably one of my favorite poems of all time, ever, there is just something so hopelessly romantic about it, I always wished it had been written for me, I wonder if we haven’t lost something immeasurably precious now courtship is pretty much a thing of the past. This is what I envy from the lives of “My” Victorian women, letters, the chance to get to know someone slowly as each epistle unfolded. As I have observed before I am a hopeless romantic, and the way to my heart has always been through my head. Actually my husband and I courted by mail, as he was stationed away from home while we were dating and for the first three years of our marriage, and so we lived in our letters to each other. When our children were small we would write each other cards and notes because we were awake at opposite ends of the day, so we would be close even so. Still I envy the object of Byron’s desire…
I don’t have much time to read poetry anymore, it requires a concentrated sort of attention, and attention seems to be in short measure right now, but my other favorite poem is this one, because I often feel much too far out… which has cropped up before, but I find not everyone is familiar with it
Stevie Smith – Not Waving But Drowning
Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he's dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.