It's been reported that a new book on the life of Keats suggests he was drowsy and inspired by opiates far longer than had been hitherto claimed, particularly in 1818-1819, around the time of his brother's death from TB, and some of Keats' greatest poems. Laudanum, opium, heroin - take your pick, these and other drugs have been used by people for centuries; some of the people who used them were artists, even geniuses; most were not, some monumental bores. As someone noted years ago in the cult film Liquid Sky, David Bowie was Bowie before the drugs. I expect without Keats' poetic skills, insights and brilliance, the drugs wouldn't have worked. New worlds swim into view on peaks without unnatural highs. Peeking into Chapman will do.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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