Mourning Love Letters

It's no secret that letter writing has become a dying art if indeed it is not already buried and dead in the journals and pages of long ago authors and poets. I was reminded of this today when I spent the afternoon browsing the shelves of Barnes and Nobles and enjoying what will no doubt be my last peppermint mocha of the holiday season.


While waiting for a friend, I surveyed the recent "Books Made into Movies" shelf and found a rather thin paperback entitled, Bright Star: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne. So, I picked it up and headed to the coffee shop where I got lucky and found a cushy armchair unoccupied and waiting just for me.


In case you're wondering, I'm no stranger to Keats. I own a copy of his collection of greatest works - a title that belonged to my mother who was an aspiring poet herself. Several years after her death, I was looking through the book and found some original work in her own handwriting. It was an ode reminiscent of Keats and written about Exxon where she worked for many years.

But I digress. Even though I'm familiar with John and his works, having studied most of them in school, I wasn't as familiar with his personal life and tragic end. Keats was no stranger to death and suffering. He lost his parents, his brother, and in the end, he too succumbed to consumption. I personally think he died as much from a heavy heart over his love Fanny Brawne as anything else, but that's simply my opinion.

As I looked through his correspondence to Fanny, I was overwhelmed by the language of love. His letters weren't composed quickly or without thought; these were written with the greatest care. I thought back to the love letters I've received, and I have had a few in my time. The most memorable ones were written by a foolishly-in-love teenager who unfortunately lost his talent for expressing those feelings.

Perhaps it's time to reconsider bringing back my teaching unit on letter writing. Maybe it is the hopeless romantic in me, but in this world where blogs and texts, IMs, and emoticons rule, I think we could all take a cue from Keats and spend a bit more time expressing our feelings in proper English language.

I've chosen an excerpt from my favorite of Keats' letters. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

July 8th, 1819 July 8th My sweet girl, Your Letter gave me more delight, than any thing in the world but yourself could do; indeed I am almost astonished that any absent one should have that luxurious power over my senses which I feel. Even when I am not thinking of you I receive your influence and a tenderer nature steeling upon me. All my thoughts, my unhappiest days and nights have I find not at all cured me of my love of Beauty, but made it so intense that I am miserable that you are not with me: