Ah, I do love me some Tennyson. It was fun comparing it to lovemaking.
Although I still love W.H. Auden for saying about Tennyson, “he had the finest ear, perhaps, of any English poet; he was undoubtedly the stupidest; there was little about melancholia that he didn’t know; there was little else that he did.”
I find being unemotional in the face of great beauty to always be a useless attempt.
Not that I’d show it.
When I have a fever, why don’t I have Tennyson to visit?
Anyhow, this is my first (and only?) “parody” in Bruno, that of Dante’s Inferno, with Tennyson playing the part of Virgil. Fun, no?
Ooh, this week is a bit of an intense one for me. It was me examining (and re-interpreting them into events which could be in Bruno’s life) all the little embarrassing or humiliating moments from growing-up which I mulled over and over and never forgave myself for.
Memory is such a powerful thing if you let it get away with itself.
Sometimes it’s hard when one person wants to be friends, and not the other. A conflict I still face sometimes in my life (on both eneds), and suspect I always will.
Human nature, liking the chase, cutting losses, they never seem to lose fascination. Shakespeare will always be relevant as long as people have hearts to give and to break.
I love this week, and wonder if that why I have so little to say about it. I mean, what more to add?