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So Bright and Delicate: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne
This edition comprises all the love letters that John Keats wrote to Fanny Brawne, and the poetry he wrote for her. John fell in love with Fanny when he saw her in November 1818 in Hampstead and was inspired to produce some of the most beautiful verse and love letters ever written.
131 pages, Paperback
First published September 2, 2009
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5533 people want to read
About the author
John Keats
1,433 books2,549 followersRich melodic works in classical imagery of English poet John Keats include "
The Eve of Saint Agnes
," "
Ode on a Grecian Urn
," and "
To Autumn
," all in 1819.
Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley include "Adonais," an elegy of 1821 to John Keats.
Work of the principal of the Romantic movement of England received constant critical attacks from the periodicals of the day during his short life. He nevertheless posthumously immensely influenced poets, such as Alfred Tennyson. Elaborate word choice and sensual imagery characterize poetry, including a series of odes, masterpieces of Keats among the most popular poems in English literature. Most celebrated letters of Keats expound on his aesthetic theory of "negative capability."
Wikipedia page of the author
Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley include "Adonais," an elegy of 1821 to John Keats.
Work of the principal of the Romantic movement of England received constant critical attacks from the periodicals of the day during his short life. He nevertheless posthumously immensely influenced poets, such as Alfred Tennyson. Elaborate word choice and sensual imagery characterize poetry, including a series of odes, masterpieces of Keats among the most popular poems in English literature. Most celebrated letters of Keats expound on his aesthetic theory of "negative capability."
Wikipedia page of the author
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 356 reviews
June 30, 2013
”Let me have another opportunity of years before me and I will not die without being remember’d” pleads John Keats in one of the thirty-seven surviving love letters he sent to his “angel”, Fanny Brawne. It was some months before his partying to Italy, where he was sent following his doctor’s advice as the last chance to survive a long, strenuous illness. He was supposed to benefit from the milder winter there. He would never return to England, dying in Rome at the premature age of twenty-five and without having ever replied to a single letter from Fanny. He wrote to his friend Mr.Brown instead explaining he could not bear to write to her knowing that he would never see her again in this life. Fanny’s unopened letters were buried with him in Rome, where a simple stone pays homage to him, with no name engraved, only the words
“Here lies one whose name was writ in water”
, as he requested.
Keats’s spell has gone very deep for me. This short collection of letters and poems has left me emotionally drained, they bear compelling witness to Keats’s tenderness, passion, genius and vulnerability. It was sometime during the spring of 1819, the one he spent next to Fanny, that Keats experienced the great outpouring of his poetic life, managing to write about love with the only authority he ever accepted, that of experience itself. It was also the year he fell mortally sick.
"You are to me an object intensely desirable – the air I breathe in a room empty of you is unhealthy."
Letter sent to Fanny from Kentish Town, preparing for his trip to Italy, 1819.
Keats published only fifty-four poems in three slim volumes and, in spite of achieving little public notoriety during his brief life, I believe him to be the quintessential British poet of all times. Keats’s grace, which is sometimes nearly “humoristic”, along with his verbal skill and his dry wit can take by surprise any reader who believed him to be the unmanly, delicate poet, at first glance innocent, he seemed to be. We can sense some of this ingenious playfulness in his short poem called "On Fame”.
Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy
To those who woo her with too slavish knees,
But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy,
And dotes the more upon a heart at ease;
She is a Gipsey, - will not speak to those
Who have not learnt to be content without her.
And if one bothers to look deeper, he will discover an unknown, exotic Keats. An acute poet who plays with his own expressive virtuosity, creating poetry from poetizing, without an inch of seriousness or philosophical pretensions, his verses appear charged with irony, impregnating the reader with flashing tastes of melancholy. Taking Wordsworth, Milton and Shakespeare for inspiration, Keats’s mature sense makes the career of the artist become an exploration of art’s power to bring solace and meaning to human suffering.
His four Odes are perfect examples of the way his poems, through a highly self-conscious art, embody meditation on desire and its fulfilment and also on wishes, dreams, and romance.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?
Ode to a Nightingale
Keats mastered an unusual willingness to embrace uncertainty, live with mystery and make peace with ambiguity, a term which has been called Negative Capability, in which the poet is able to forget about his self and, in vacating his mind, he can fully succumb into the intensity of countless experiences, creating poems out of them. It’s in this fashion that the reader can “feel” rather than “read” Keats’s verses because they don’t struggle with aesthetic form but for meaning against the limits of experience, and always with the under shadowing presence of death behind beauty.
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
Pale were the lips I kissed, and fair the form
I floated with, about that melancholy storm.
A Dream, after reading Dante’s Episode of Paolo and Francesca.
Keats’s relationship to Fanny Brawne has tantalized generations of lovers of his poetry, moved and shocked them by their frank passion and intense feelings. I count myself among them. His letters and poems, are all part of the alchemy that makes Keats so special. The young man who died devastated, convinced that he would be forgotten, has been repeatedly re-discovered and remains immortal in the pulsating hearts of all the readers who ache and delight in the way in which beauty reveals the subtle truth behind Keats’s distressing verses. Keats rests in peace knowing he left this earthly world more beloved than most of us will ever be.
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, S
till, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
Bright Star, dedicated to Fanny Brown.
Keats’s spell has gone very deep for me. This short collection of letters and poems has left me emotionally drained, they bear compelling witness to Keats’s tenderness, passion, genius and vulnerability. It was sometime during the spring of 1819, the one he spent next to Fanny, that Keats experienced the great outpouring of his poetic life, managing to write about love with the only authority he ever accepted, that of experience itself. It was also the year he fell mortally sick.
"You are to me an object intensely desirable – the air I breathe in a room empty of you is unhealthy."
Letter sent to Fanny from Kentish Town, preparing for his trip to Italy, 1819.
Keats published only fifty-four poems in three slim volumes and, in spite of achieving little public notoriety during his brief life, I believe him to be the quintessential British poet of all times. Keats’s grace, which is sometimes nearly “humoristic”, along with his verbal skill and his dry wit can take by surprise any reader who believed him to be the unmanly, delicate poet, at first glance innocent, he seemed to be. We can sense some of this ingenious playfulness in his short poem called "On Fame”.
Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy
To those who woo her with too slavish knees,
But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy,
And dotes the more upon a heart at ease;
She is a Gipsey, - will not speak to those
Who have not learnt to be content without her.
And if one bothers to look deeper, he will discover an unknown, exotic Keats. An acute poet who plays with his own expressive virtuosity, creating poetry from poetizing, without an inch of seriousness or philosophical pretensions, his verses appear charged with irony, impregnating the reader with flashing tastes of melancholy. Taking Wordsworth, Milton and Shakespeare for inspiration, Keats’s mature sense makes the career of the artist become an exploration of art’s power to bring solace and meaning to human suffering.
His four Odes are perfect examples of the way his poems, through a highly self-conscious art, embody meditation on desire and its fulfilment and also on wishes, dreams, and romance.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?
Ode to a Nightingale
Keats mastered an unusual willingness to embrace uncertainty, live with mystery and make peace with ambiguity, a term which has been called Negative Capability, in which the poet is able to forget about his self and, in vacating his mind, he can fully succumb into the intensity of countless experiences, creating poems out of them. It’s in this fashion that the reader can “feel” rather than “read” Keats’s verses because they don’t struggle with aesthetic form but for meaning against the limits of experience, and always with the under shadowing presence of death behind beauty.
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
Pale were the lips I kissed, and fair the form
I floated with, about that melancholy storm.
A Dream, after reading Dante’s Episode of Paolo and Francesca.
Keats’s relationship to Fanny Brawne has tantalized generations of lovers of his poetry, moved and shocked them by their frank passion and intense feelings. I count myself among them. His letters and poems, are all part of the alchemy that makes Keats so special. The young man who died devastated, convinced that he would be forgotten, has been repeatedly re-discovered and remains immortal in the pulsating hearts of all the readers who ache and delight in the way in which beauty reveals the subtle truth behind Keats’s distressing verses. Keats rests in peace knowing he left this earthly world more beloved than most of us will ever be.
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, S
till, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
Bright Star, dedicated to Fanny Brown.
November 15, 2018
February 1820
My dearest Girl –
If illness makes such an agreeable variety in the manner of your eyes I should wish you sometimes to be ill. I wish I had read your note before you went last night that I might have assured you how far I was from suspecting any coldness: You had a just right to be a little silent to one who speaks so plainly to you. You must believe you shall, you will that I can do nothing say nothing think nothing of you but what has its spring in the Love which has so long been my pleasure and torment. On the night I was taken ill when so violent a rush of blood came to my Lungs that I felt nearly suffocated – I assure you I felt it possible I might not survive and at that moment though[ t] of nothing but you – When I said to Brown ‘this is unfortunate’ I thought of you – ‘T is true that since the first two or three days other subjects have entered my head – I shall be looking forward to Health and the Spring and a regular routine of our old Walks. Your affectionate
J.K –
Sono lettere piene d’amore quelle di John Keats a Fanny Brawne. Lungi dall’essere sdolcinato, Keats ci mette il fuoco dentro. E così io, dopo aver invidiato Fanny Stevenson per l’uomo che ha avuto, torno ad invidiare un’altra Fanny, Fanny Brawne, per l’uomo che non ha avuto, ma che è sempre stato suo.
https://youtu.be/n9cgtWKI4TU
My dearest Girl –
If illness makes such an agreeable variety in the manner of your eyes I should wish you sometimes to be ill. I wish I had read your note before you went last night that I might have assured you how far I was from suspecting any coldness: You had a just right to be a little silent to one who speaks so plainly to you. You must believe you shall, you will that I can do nothing say nothing think nothing of you but what has its spring in the Love which has so long been my pleasure and torment. On the night I was taken ill when so violent a rush of blood came to my Lungs that I felt nearly suffocated – I assure you I felt it possible I might not survive and at that moment though[ t] of nothing but you – When I said to Brown ‘this is unfortunate’ I thought of you – ‘T is true that since the first two or three days other subjects have entered my head – I shall be looking forward to Health and the Spring and a regular routine of our old Walks. Your affectionate
J.K –
Sono lettere piene d’amore quelle di John Keats a Fanny Brawne. Lungi dall’essere sdolcinato, Keats ci mette il fuoco dentro. E così io, dopo aver invidiato Fanny Stevenson per l’uomo che ha avuto, torno ad invidiare un’altra Fanny, Fanny Brawne, per l’uomo che non ha avuto, ma che è sempre stato suo.
https://youtu.be/n9cgtWKI4TU
October 29, 2009
While I own the Penguin Classics edition of "The Complete Poems of John Keats," this is a marvelous compilation of the beautiful letters that John Keats wrote to Fanny Brawne, the young woman that he fell head-over-heels in love with in the last years of his short life. These letters provide such a beautiful window into the heart and soul of one of mankind's greatest poets. Ms. Jane Campion, the director of the recently released film about Keats's love affair with Fanny Brawne, has collected Keats's letters and poetry he wrote inspired by his relationship with Fanny into a wonderful little volume. The letters are presented first, in chronological order; followed by Keats's poetry. It is an incredibly moving and emotional presentation, and made me realize just how intensely heartfelt Keats's feelings for Fanny were.
The next time you take a road-trip or vacation with the love-of-your-life, take this little book along and read it aloud. It is a beautiful testament to love, and a tribute to one of the finest poets in the English language. If you love poetry, this little volume belongs on your shelf.
The next time you take a road-trip or vacation with the love-of-your-life, take this little book along and read it aloud. It is a beautiful testament to love, and a tribute to one of the finest poets in the English language. If you love poetry, this little volume belongs on your shelf.
January 15, 2024
John Keat's poetry deserves 5 stars in my opinion, and the letters written to Fanny Brawne I would maybe give 3 1/2, 4 stars to. It's hard to grade such a thing, because Keats wrote these for Fanny personally with no intention for them to be read by others. Maybe the most interesting letter to me though, was the one where he admits to her that as he nears his own death his thoughts toward her are now split half and half toward his desire to be someone, or leave something meaningful behind, to be remembered. Which shows how transparent and honest Keats was. You get a sense of what made his poetry so special in these letters. His youthful and all engulfing desire and love for Fanny alongside his reasoning side and his valuing of honesty and transparency. There is even a letter where he expresses his extreme jealousy towards her, and as the letters are tied into his relationship with Fanny, his writing, and his facing of his own death, they are incredibly interesting, and I was able to identify my younger self in them, and maybe it is because of that, that they rub me the wrong way at times.
The book juxtaposes these raw youthful letters to his romantic and fantastical poetry. This was my first time in the world of Keats, and I definitely fell under the spell of his beautiful verse. His world of elves, fairies, and satyrs. Of Greek mythology, Catholic saints, and the mystical presence of nature. The reason I gave the book 4 stars instead of 5 was because standing next to his mystical and transcendent poetry, his letters seem wanting and childish at times, and though they set a biographical context to the poems, Keat's poetry stands much higher on it's own.
Here are some of my favorite lines,
From Ode to Psyche:
"O latest born and loveliest vision far
Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy!
Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-region'd star,
Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
Nor altar heap'd with flowers;
Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan
Upon the midnight hours;
No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
From chain-swung censer teeming;
No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
Yet even in these days so far retir'd
From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspir'd.
So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
Upon the midnight hours;
Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
From swinged censer teeming;
Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat
Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
In some untrodden region of my mind,
Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind:
Far, far around shall those dark-cluster'd trees
Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep;
And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep;
And in the midst of this wide quietness
A rosy sanctuary will I dress
With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain,
With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign,
Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:
And there shall be for thee all soft delight
That shadowy thought can win,
A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
To let the warm Love in!"
AND
From Ode on Indolence:
"How is it, Shadows! that I knew ye not?
How came ye muffled in so hush a mask?
Was it a silent deep-disguisèd plot
To steal away, and leave without a task
My idle days? Ripe was the drowsy hour;
The blissful cloud of summer-indolence
Benumb’d my eyes; my pulse grew less and less;
Pain had no sting, and pleasure’s wreath no flower:
O, why did ye not melt, and leave my sense
Unhaunted quite of all but—nothingness?"
And
From Lamia:
" ...and, for the sage,
Let spear-grass and the spiteful thistle wage
War on his temples. Do not all charms fly
At the mere touch of cold philosophy?
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
We know her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull catalogue of common things.
Philosophy will clip an Angel’s wings,
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine -
Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made
The tender-person’d Lamia melt into a shade."
Gorgeously constructed verse. I'm looking forward to reading his collected works.
The book juxtaposes these raw youthful letters to his romantic and fantastical poetry. This was my first time in the world of Keats, and I definitely fell under the spell of his beautiful verse. His world of elves, fairies, and satyrs. Of Greek mythology, Catholic saints, and the mystical presence of nature. The reason I gave the book 4 stars instead of 5 was because standing next to his mystical and transcendent poetry, his letters seem wanting and childish at times, and though they set a biographical context to the poems, Keat's poetry stands much higher on it's own.
Here are some of my favorite lines,
From Ode to Psyche:
"O latest born and loveliest vision far
Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy!
Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-region'd star,
Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
Nor altar heap'd with flowers;
Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan
Upon the midnight hours;
No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
From chain-swung censer teeming;
No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
Yet even in these days so far retir'd
From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspir'd.
So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
Upon the midnight hours;
Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
From swinged censer teeming;
Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat
Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
In some untrodden region of my mind,
Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind:
Far, far around shall those dark-cluster'd trees
Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep;
And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep;
And in the midst of this wide quietness
A rosy sanctuary will I dress
With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain,
With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign,
Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:
And there shall be for thee all soft delight
That shadowy thought can win,
A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
To let the warm Love in!"
AND
From Ode on Indolence:
"How is it, Shadows! that I knew ye not?
How came ye muffled in so hush a mask?
Was it a silent deep-disguisèd plot
To steal away, and leave without a task
My idle days? Ripe was the drowsy hour;
The blissful cloud of summer-indolence
Benumb’d my eyes; my pulse grew less and less;
Pain had no sting, and pleasure’s wreath no flower:
O, why did ye not melt, and leave my sense
Unhaunted quite of all but—nothingness?"
And
From Lamia:
" ...and, for the sage,
Let spear-grass and the spiteful thistle wage
War on his temples. Do not all charms fly
At the mere touch of cold philosophy?
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
We know her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull catalogue of common things.
Philosophy will clip an Angel’s wings,
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine -
Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made
The tender-person’d Lamia melt into a shade."
Gorgeously constructed verse. I'm looking forward to reading his collected works.
February 27, 2026
Thank you to my girl Minne who recommended this by John Keats <33
ARGGGGGGGGGGGHHH!! 🥺🥺😭🖐️Help this is so cute.
😩🙌🙌
It gets better and better... I think this might officially be my favourite love poem (i know i've said that many times) but I mean as of now, it is.
🦋I almost wish we were butterflies:
The morning is the only proper time for me
to write to a beautiful girl whom I love so much
ARGGGGGGGGGGGHHH!! 🥺🥺😭🖐️Help this is so cute.
for at night, the lonely day has closed
...then believe me my passion gets entirely the sway,
then I would not have you see those rhapsodiesit is you must confess very hard that another sort of pain should haunt me.
Ask yourself my love whether you are not very cruel to have enthralled me, so destroyed my freedom.
I almost wished we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days --- three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
😩🙌🙌
It gets better and better... I think this might officially be my favourite love poem (i know i've said that many times) but I mean as of now, it is.
February 14, 2023
MEN USED TO WRITE LOVE LETTERS WITH SENTENCES LIKE THIS:
"If I am destined to be happy with you here–how short is the longest Life–I wish to believe in immortality–I wish to live with you for ever…Let me be but certain that you are mine heart and soul, and I could die more happily than I could otherwise live."
"I could be martyr’d for my Religion – Love is my religion – I could die for that – I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet – You have ravish’d me away by a Power I cannot resist: and yet I could resist till I saw you; and even since I have seen you I have endeavoured often “to reason against the reasons of my Love.” I can do that no more – the pain would be too great – My Love is selfish – I cannot breathe without you."
"My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you – I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again – my Life seems to stop there – I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving – I should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing you …"
----------
the time has come the walrus said etc. etc.
----------
planning on spending my valentine's day eating strawberry cheesecake and reading the love letters between my two favorite doomed Romantics <3
"If I am destined to be happy with you here–how short is the longest Life–I wish to believe in immortality–I wish to live with you for ever…Let me be but certain that you are mine heart and soul, and I could die more happily than I could otherwise live."
"I could be martyr’d for my Religion – Love is my religion – I could die for that – I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet – You have ravish’d me away by a Power I cannot resist: and yet I could resist till I saw you; and even since I have seen you I have endeavoured often “to reason against the reasons of my Love.” I can do that no more – the pain would be too great – My Love is selfish – I cannot breathe without you."
"My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you – I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again – my Life seems to stop there – I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving – I should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing you …"
----------
the time has come the walrus said etc. etc.
----------
planning on spending my valentine's day eating strawberry cheesecake and reading the love letters between my two favorite doomed Romantics <3
![Profile Image for Saranya [ia].](/_next/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Fi.gr-assets.com%2Fimages%2FS%2Fcompressed.photo.goodreads.com%2Fusers%2F1774548963i%2F187457635._UX200_CR0%2C44%2C200%2C200_.jpg&w=128&q=75)
August 5, 2025
Men could die Martyrs for religion – I have shudder‘d at it – I shudder no more – I could be martyr‘d for my Religion – Love is my religion – I could die for that – I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet – You have ravish‘d me away by a Power I cannot resist:...
I had butterflies in my stomach while reading this
OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD.
My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you – I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again – my Life seems to stop there – I see no further. You have absorb‘d me.
TO BE LOVED BY THE GREATEST POET OF THE ROMANTIC ERA
I almost wish we were butterflies and liv‘d but three summer days — three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
Illness is a long lane, but I see you at the end of it, and shall mend my pace as well as possible
KEATS! The man you were! You could love like none! Love youuuuuuu!
June 12, 2018
L’amore giovane
C’è una specie di emotività adolescenziale nelle parole di Keats, e c’è anche l’egoismo (oh, quanto umano!) del desiderio di possesso.
Lettere d’amore lontane da ogni cliché. Parole di fuoco che gridano (o sussurrano) un sentimento vero, forte, sincero, totalizzante.
C’è una specie di emotività adolescenziale nelle parole di Keats, e c’è anche l’egoismo (oh, quanto umano!) del desiderio di possesso.
Lettere d’amore lontane da ogni cliché. Parole di fuoco che gridano (o sussurrano) un sentimento vero, forte, sincero, totalizzante.
March 4, 2021
term me biased if you must, but john keats could write a grocery list and i'd give the text all the stars in the sky.
"ask yourself my love whether you are not very cruel to have so entrammelled me, so destroyed my freedom. will you confess this in the letter you must write immediately, and do all you can to console me in it — make it rich as a draught of poppies to intoxicate me —write the softest words and kiss them that i may at least touch my lips where yours have been. for myself i know not how to express my devotion to so fair a form: i want a brighter word than bright, a fairer word than fair."
"ask yourself my love whether you are not very cruel to have so entrammelled me, so destroyed my freedom. will you confess this in the letter you must write immediately, and do all you can to console me in it — make it rich as a draught of poppies to intoxicate me —write the softest words and kiss them that i may at least touch my lips where yours have been. for myself i know not how to express my devotion to so fair a form: i want a brighter word than bright, a fairer word than fair."
May 8, 2016
My full review can be found on my blog: https://wheretheresinktherespaper.wor...
January 2, 2012
The movie is better than the book. Much better.
Normally, it is the book is better than the movie and a friend commented during our book club's Christmas party last month that this line should not be uttered anymore. It is always the case (especially for us readers). However, in my mind, there are exceptions like Tolkien's LOTR and Mario Puzo's The Godfather. And this book joins the two.
Well, in fairness, the book is not a novel but just a compilation of letters that English romantic poet John Keats wrote to her girlfriend Fanny Brawne during the last four years of his life. It also has the poems that he composed during their relationship including the one - the last one he wrote - entitled To Fanny - that was so sad and poignant as if John Keats was saying his final goodbye to Fanny Brawne. You see, when John Keats died, he was in Italy while Fanny Brawne remained in London so they corresponded via letters and John Keats wrote her poems. That last poem was used in the closing scene in the movie directed by Jane Champion (who directed the Oscar-nominated movie in the 90's called The Piano). I will always remember that scene. It brought back memories of Jane Austen movie adaptations. Glorious cinematography. Shots of English estates amidst the cotton-white fog. Very ethereal especially with the romantic and sad verses of John Keats narrated while the beautiful female actress is reading while walking and crying. If you are single, poetry-savvy, and ready for some crying over lost love go for the movie adaptation of this book. It competed in the 62nd Cannes Film Festival and was first screened in public in May 2009. It lost to Michael Haneke's The White Ribbon and Jane Champion lost to our very own Briliante Mendoza with his movie Butchered ("Kinatay"). Now that I've seen both films, i.e., Bright Star and Butchered, I say, oh why oh why, Isabelle Huppert and company?
Sorry, I digressed.
The book obviously seemed to have been published only for movie promotion. Jane Champion's introduction basically covers the plot of the movie and she used the lines in both letters and poems in the dialogues. I liked the movie but the book seems to be like a separate entity and I did not feel anything reading the letters and poems. Maybe because they were not dated so I had to guess when a particular letter or poem was written - when they were still together at Hampstead, when John Keats was in London, or when he was already in Italy? Translation: when he was still alive, when was already sick with TB or when he was already terminally ill? I thought that a short intro to each would have put the reader into the right time frame and perspective. I also waited for the big farewell poem (like Jose Rizal's Mi Ultimo Adios) prior to John Keats' final demise but there was none. I found it lacking. Sort of bitin.
But this book is definitely a nice intro to the works of John Keats. In the book and in the movie, they said that his first poetry compilation, Endymion is a must-read and I will definitely be in the look out for that one.
Normally, it is the book is better than the movie and a friend commented during our book club's Christmas party last month that this line should not be uttered anymore. It is always the case (especially for us readers). However, in my mind, there are exceptions like Tolkien's LOTR and Mario Puzo's The Godfather. And this book joins the two.
Well, in fairness, the book is not a novel but just a compilation of letters that English romantic poet John Keats wrote to her girlfriend Fanny Brawne during the last four years of his life. It also has the poems that he composed during their relationship including the one - the last one he wrote - entitled To Fanny - that was so sad and poignant as if John Keats was saying his final goodbye to Fanny Brawne. You see, when John Keats died, he was in Italy while Fanny Brawne remained in London so they corresponded via letters and John Keats wrote her poems. That last poem was used in the closing scene in the movie directed by Jane Champion (who directed the Oscar-nominated movie in the 90's called The Piano). I will always remember that scene. It brought back memories of Jane Austen movie adaptations. Glorious cinematography. Shots of English estates amidst the cotton-white fog. Very ethereal especially with the romantic and sad verses of John Keats narrated while the beautiful female actress is reading while walking and crying. If you are single, poetry-savvy, and ready for some crying over lost love go for the movie adaptation of this book. It competed in the 62nd Cannes Film Festival and was first screened in public in May 2009. It lost to Michael Haneke's The White Ribbon and Jane Champion lost to our very own Briliante Mendoza with his movie Butchered ("Kinatay"). Now that I've seen both films, i.e., Bright Star and Butchered, I say, oh why oh why, Isabelle Huppert and company?
Sorry, I digressed.
The book obviously seemed to have been published only for movie promotion. Jane Champion's introduction basically covers the plot of the movie and she used the lines in both letters and poems in the dialogues. I liked the movie but the book seems to be like a separate entity and I did not feel anything reading the letters and poems. Maybe because they were not dated so I had to guess when a particular letter or poem was written - when they were still together at Hampstead, when John Keats was in London, or when he was already in Italy? Translation: when he was still alive, when was already sick with TB or when he was already terminally ill? I thought that a short intro to each would have put the reader into the right time frame and perspective. I also waited for the big farewell poem (like Jose Rizal's Mi Ultimo Adios) prior to John Keats' final demise but there was none. I found it lacking. Sort of bitin.
But this book is definitely a nice intro to the works of John Keats. In the book and in the movie, they said that his first poetry compilation, Endymion is a must-read and I will definitely be in the look out for that one.
April 8, 2013
I have to start saying that this book is not a novel but a compilation of letters that John Keats, the English romantic poet, wrote to her girlfriend Fanny Brawne during the last four years of his life. It also has the poems that he composed during their relationship including the last one he wrote.
It's absolutely romantic. It makes me wonder what we have lost due to modern times and long for men who could write beautifully like Keats did for Brawne. It's both touching and beautiful.
If you are like me, that cry over everything sad, get your tissue box ready because this is a reality of a love affair turned impossible, in its all true, harsh colors.
I'm even crying writing this review. It is so beautiful and at the same time so sad and poignant that is impossible not to be moved. John knows he can't love Fanny because he is poor and has nothing to offer her, but then they stand their grounds against prejudiced society and when they are set on having their love affair, he discovers he is going to die of tuberculosis. He must go to Italy and she stays in England.
On all his letters - and we don't see hers, because they were buried with him - he talks about his love, his undying hope to see her again, and his miserable life where even to breathe is painful.
In all his imperfections, Keats is perfect even when he is cruelly true and hurts Fanny by letting her know that he is suffering and missing her.
Their love never died.
This is the most romantic love story I've ever read and I greatly recommend it.
I have to thank Dolors Casas for the great gift.
I loved it Dolors, thanks!!
It's absolutely romantic. It makes me wonder what we have lost due to modern times and long for men who could write beautifully like Keats did for Brawne. It's both touching and beautiful.
If you are like me, that cry over everything sad, get your tissue box ready because this is a reality of a love affair turned impossible, in its all true, harsh colors.
I'm even crying writing this review. It is so beautiful and at the same time so sad and poignant that is impossible not to be moved. John knows he can't love Fanny because he is poor and has nothing to offer her, but then they stand their grounds against prejudiced society and when they are set on having their love affair, he discovers he is going to die of tuberculosis. He must go to Italy and she stays in England.
On all his letters - and we don't see hers, because they were buried with him - he talks about his love, his undying hope to see her again, and his miserable life where even to breathe is painful.
In all his imperfections, Keats is perfect even when he is cruelly true and hurts Fanny by letting her know that he is suffering and missing her.
Their love never died.
This is the most romantic love story I've ever read and I greatly recommend it.
I have to thank Dolors Casas for the great gift.
I loved it Dolors, thanks!!
August 9, 2024
I am no romantic, but I suddenly turn into one when it comes to John Keats.
No one writes love letters like Keats does.
No one who so perfectly translates passion, love, and admiration the way he does.
The poetry is pretty, and while I initially picked this book up solely for the letters, I found most of the poetry enjoyable to read.
However, what made this book so great was undoubtedly his letters to Fanny Brawne.
It feels almost imposing to read letters that were not written for you, but at the same time, I do believe that there is something beautiful about letting their love story live on by consuming their letters in which they confessed their love for one another.
Not only is the language beautiful, but the way in which Keats describes his love for Brawne, and even just her presence in his life, is magnificent. This makes it bittersweet knowing he died young and their love did not bloom for more than a few years.
Even if you are a cynic, I believe you would melt from reading Keats's love letter.
No one writes love letters like Keats does.
No one who so perfectly translates passion, love, and admiration the way he does.
The poetry is pretty, and while I initially picked this book up solely for the letters, I found most of the poetry enjoyable to read.
However, what made this book so great was undoubtedly his letters to Fanny Brawne.
It feels almost imposing to read letters that were not written for you, but at the same time, I do believe that there is something beautiful about letting their love story live on by consuming their letters in which they confessed their love for one another.
Not only is the language beautiful, but the way in which Keats describes his love for Brawne, and even just her presence in his life, is magnificent. This makes it bittersweet knowing he died young and their love did not bloom for more than a few years.
Even if you are a cynic, I believe you would melt from reading Keats's love letter.
August 11, 2016
Very romantic...it's insane to think that there actually were men who wrote poetry like this to women at one time or another. The first half of the book (The letters to Fanny) were both touching and beautiful. The second half which were the best of his poems was wonderful as well, however I had to re-read most of it and look up a lot of the words since it is written in old English. The movie was very well done as well and Jane Champion gives a little intro in this book which helps to put things in perspective. If you are a fan of poetry, I suggest you read this book, but keep a dictionary handy. 8/10.
Read
March 26, 2026such beautiful writing from such a tragic story 😭 I mean damn, give the guy a break.
October 14, 2009
Perfect and imperfect. Proof that love never dies. This is the most romantic love story I've ever read...and probably will ever read in my lifetime. Romeo and Juliet, Elizabeth and Darcy,Tristan and Isolde, Barbie and Ken...amateurs.
"When Fanny was told of Keat's Death, the effect on her was terrible. The Twenty-year-old cut her hair short and spent three years in widows black, roaming the paths on the Heath where she and Keats had walked together."
"Is there another life?...There must be, we cannot be created for this kind of suffering."
What would you have done if your love left you? I'd do the same.
"When Fanny was told of Keat's Death, the effect on her was terrible. The Twenty-year-old cut her hair short and spent three years in widows black, roaming the paths on the Heath where she and Keats had walked together."
"Is there another life?...There must be, we cannot be created for this kind of suffering."
What would you have done if your love left you? I'd do the same.
February 24, 2023
la cosa más triste y más unhinged que he leído en mi vida y además luego puedes ver cómo su relación con fanny condicionaba la forma en la que escribía sobre el amor en su poesía!!!!!!!! a quién no le va a gustar
October 15, 2018
I can't tell you how much i was mesmerized while reading Keats' letters and poems. The whole book took me back to my love, English poetry especially romantic poetry.
I read and reread Lamia, which is my ever favorite poem by Keats, maybe 4 times as I'm totally in love with it. It combines 2 of my favorite subjects: Literature and Mythology (exciting, eh?)
I can't wait to watch the movie 😍
I read and reread Lamia, which is my ever favorite poem by Keats, maybe 4 times as I'm totally in love with it. It combines 2 of my favorite subjects: Literature and Mythology (exciting, eh?)
I can't wait to watch the movie 😍
March 11, 2019
John Keats, I love you so much. You have no idea how many times your letters brought me on the verge of tears. Wonderfully written and wonderfully edited.
September 25, 2020
this was unbelievably sweet.
December 26, 2020
Ach herrje. Ich und die Poesie.
Manchmal tun wir uns sehr, sehr schwer. Mit mir und Keats wird das jedenfalls auch nichts mehr.
Als Begleitbüchlein zum Film mag das hier ja gehen, aber nicht als Einführung in die Materie. Und das ist es für mich, da ich nichts über Keats und Brawne wusste. Es kommt erschwerend hinzu, dass nur Keats Briefe überliefert sind und man somit nie die Antworten auf seine Briefe lesen kann.
Und auch an sich lässt mich das Süßholzgeraspele des jungen Kerls recht kalt. Ach wie schön ist doch die Fanny. Oh, ich war mal wieder krank. Das Wetter ist schön. Ups, mein Freund mag dich nicht.
Es gibt auch eine Abteilung für Briefe an seine Freunde und ein Abdruck seiner Gedichte aus dieser Zeit, welche sowohl auf Englisch als auch auf Deutsch abgedruckt wurden.
Ich verstehe warum die Kritiker sie damals nicht mochten.
Manchmal tun wir uns sehr, sehr schwer. Mit mir und Keats wird das jedenfalls auch nichts mehr.
Als Begleitbüchlein zum Film mag das hier ja gehen, aber nicht als Einführung in die Materie. Und das ist es für mich, da ich nichts über Keats und Brawne wusste. Es kommt erschwerend hinzu, dass nur Keats Briefe überliefert sind und man somit nie die Antworten auf seine Briefe lesen kann.
Und auch an sich lässt mich das Süßholzgeraspele des jungen Kerls recht kalt. Ach wie schön ist doch die Fanny. Oh, ich war mal wieder krank. Das Wetter ist schön. Ups, mein Freund mag dich nicht.
Es gibt auch eine Abteilung für Briefe an seine Freunde und ein Abdruck seiner Gedichte aus dieser Zeit, welche sowohl auf Englisch als auch auf Deutsch abgedruckt wurden.
Ich verstehe warum die Kritiker sie damals nicht mochten.
August 2, 2010
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
John Keats is one of the best poets I have ever had the honor to read. Having died at the age of 25, John Keats may have lived a short life but his poetry and letters show he knew much more about love and life than most of us today. This book, in particular, serves as a companion to the 2009 movie "Bright Star", staring Abbie Cornish and Ben Whishaw. As the movie focuses on the doomed romantic relationship between John Keats and Fanny Brawne, this book offers selected poetry and letters that John Keats wrote to Fanny. Unfortunately, none of Fanny Brawne's letters have survived.
Despite the fact that all the letters included in this book are all from John Keats, you still are given a glance into his heart. After reading this book I was in awe at how deep and personal his letters and poems were. A few tears were shed, both of sadness and happiness. Even though Fannny Brawne did finally marry six years after Keats death you can not believe anything but that these two were soul mates in the highest sense of the word.
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
John Keats is one of the best poets I have ever had the honor to read. Having died at the age of 25, John Keats may have lived a short life but his poetry and letters show he knew much more about love and life than most of us today. This book, in particular, serves as a companion to the 2009 movie "Bright Star", staring Abbie Cornish and Ben Whishaw. As the movie focuses on the doomed romantic relationship between John Keats and Fanny Brawne, this book offers selected poetry and letters that John Keats wrote to Fanny. Unfortunately, none of Fanny Brawne's letters have survived.
Despite the fact that all the letters included in this book are all from John Keats, you still are given a glance into his heart. After reading this book I was in awe at how deep and personal his letters and poems were. A few tears were shed, both of sadness and happiness. Even though Fannny Brawne did finally marry six years after Keats death you can not believe anything but that these two were soul mates in the highest sense of the word.
July 11, 2017
I'm going to review this before even reading it, because as a person who has had some interest in Keats for a while now, this isn't close to reflective of his relationship with Fanny. The letters comprise approximately a third of the book, which is fine; that's all we have. But the other two thirds are poems that are supposed to be written about Fanny. In most cases, this is blatantly not true. We do not have enough information to determine how much or little these poems were influenced by Fanny.
Jane Campion made a relatively accurate film about not only Keats's relationship with Fanny, but many other facets of his life. However, I don't believe she should be capitalizing on uncertainties republished as facts.
PS: Many of the reviewers here are evaluating the film and book as if it were fictional. I believe that if Keats were still alive and got wind of this, he would haul his skinny 5'3" self out of Hampstead and give y'all a good knuckle sandwich. Read a friggin' book, Goodreads!
Jane Campion made a relatively accurate film about not only Keats's relationship with Fanny, but many other facets of his life. However, I don't believe she should be capitalizing on uncertainties republished as facts.
PS: Many of the reviewers here are evaluating the film and book as if it were fictional. I believe that if Keats were still alive and got wind of this, he would haul his skinny 5'3" self out of Hampstead and give y'all a good knuckle sandwich. Read a friggin' book, Goodreads!
September 6, 2013
Love, Truth, Beauty and Nature captured by a man who translated into words the language of the heart.
January 8, 2015
I very nearly cried whilst reading this. Full review here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAtxL...
November 24, 2014
Glorious glorious glorious!
April 18, 2025
pas op: chaos, flauwe humor en bedenkelijke interpunctie.
dit boekje komt uit de Shakespeare and Company in Parijs, daarom is deze extra gaaf en leuk en mooi.
ik geef het drie sterren, want… ja, dit zijn brieven. onmogelijk om te beoordelen; wist Keats veel dat precies 204 jaar, 1 maand, 25 dagen en 22 uren na zijn dood (ja, dit heb ik berekend), een Nederlandse jongeman in Groningen, op zijn leesstoel, met een kom zoete aardappelsoep, stokbrood met olijfolie, thee en dichtvallende ogen, zijn meest intieme liefdesbrieven zou zitten lezen.
dus de drie sterretjes gaan over hoe leuk ik het vond om het te lezen; op zich een goede oplossing, toch? dacht ik dus ook. dus: het was oké. deze man is zó heerlijk dramatisch en romantisch (wat wil je als romantische dichter), en ik heb natuurlijk geen enkele grond om zijn brieven te beoordelen… nul komma nul - nil!..
maar! …ik vond het niet zo boeiend.
helaas is Keats maar 25 geworden… gestorven aan tuberculose, tot groot verdriet van zijn geliefde, de 22 jarige Fanny, die daarna haar haar heeft afgeknipt en 3 jaar lang in zwart gekleed ging.
dus, ben je een toevallig een man, óf vrouw, óf geen van beide… of allebei, of niet. ehmm… nee schrap dat.
ben je toevallig een mens, geboren in begin 19e eeuw, en wil je weten hoe je iemand het hof moet maken met woorden in je brief, hierbij een aantal citaatjes. doe er uw voordeel mee en bedankt me later als ik je brieven lees over 204 jaar (of niet, waarschijnlijk niet)
——
“I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain”
“I must write you a line or two and see if that will assist in dismissing you from my Mind for ever so short a time. Upon my Soul I can think of nothing else. The time is passed when I had power to advise and warn you against the unpromising morning of my Life. My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you. I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again my Life seems to stop there - I see no further”
“I did not know whether to say purple or blue so in the mixture of the thought wrote purplue which may be an excellent name for a colour made up of those two, and would suit well to start next spring”
(ja, dit zijn de allerbeste citaatjes, mensen die zulke dingen zeggen moet je koesteren)
“My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.”
“Thou art a dreaming thing,
A fever of thyself.”
“I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion – I have shudder’d at it – I shudder no more – I could be martyr’d for my Religion – Love is my religion – I could die for that. I could die for you.”
——
(ik wil dat brieven weer een ding worden… iemand zin om penvrienden te worden? nee? niemand? oké ik ga wel verder met domme recensies schrijven)
welterusten allemaal
dit boekje komt uit de Shakespeare and Company in Parijs, daarom is deze extra gaaf en leuk en mooi.
ik geef het drie sterren, want… ja, dit zijn brieven. onmogelijk om te beoordelen; wist Keats veel dat precies 204 jaar, 1 maand, 25 dagen en 22 uren na zijn dood (ja, dit heb ik berekend), een Nederlandse jongeman in Groningen, op zijn leesstoel, met een kom zoete aardappelsoep, stokbrood met olijfolie, thee en dichtvallende ogen, zijn meest intieme liefdesbrieven zou zitten lezen.
dus de drie sterretjes gaan over hoe leuk ik het vond om het te lezen; op zich een goede oplossing, toch? dacht ik dus ook. dus: het was oké. deze man is zó heerlijk dramatisch en romantisch (wat wil je als romantische dichter), en ik heb natuurlijk geen enkele grond om zijn brieven te beoordelen… nul komma nul - nil!..
maar! …ik vond het niet zo boeiend.
helaas is Keats maar 25 geworden… gestorven aan tuberculose, tot groot verdriet van zijn geliefde, de 22 jarige Fanny, die daarna haar haar heeft afgeknipt en 3 jaar lang in zwart gekleed ging.
dus, ben je een toevallig een man, óf vrouw, óf geen van beide… of allebei, of niet. ehmm… nee schrap dat.
ben je toevallig een mens, geboren in begin 19e eeuw, en wil je weten hoe je iemand het hof moet maken met woorden in je brief, hierbij een aantal citaatjes. doe er uw voordeel mee en bedankt me later als ik je brieven lees over 204 jaar (of niet, waarschijnlijk niet)
——
“I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain”
“I must write you a line or two and see if that will assist in dismissing you from my Mind for ever so short a time. Upon my Soul I can think of nothing else. The time is passed when I had power to advise and warn you against the unpromising morning of my Life. My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you. I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again my Life seems to stop there - I see no further”
“I did not know whether to say purple or blue so in the mixture of the thought wrote purplue which may be an excellent name for a colour made up of those two, and would suit well to start next spring”
(ja, dit zijn de allerbeste citaatjes, mensen die zulke dingen zeggen moet je koesteren)
“My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.”
“Thou art a dreaming thing,
A fever of thyself.”
“I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion – I have shudder’d at it – I shudder no more – I could be martyr’d for my Religion – Love is my religion – I could die for that. I could die for you.”
——
(ik wil dat brieven weer een ding worden… iemand zin om penvrienden te worden? nee? niemand? oké ik ga wel verder met domme recensies schrijven)
welterusten allemaal
February 19, 2023
I hate to admit it, but before I saw the film "Bright Star" in October of 2009, I knew next to nothing about John Keats. I knew he was an english poet, and that he was mentioned in a Natasha Bedingfield song, but that was pretty much the extent of it. I was entirely taken off guard when I saw this film, and began what has now, I think I can safely say, become a love affair with his life and poetry. The letters in this volume are what strike me the most. As I read them, I felt as if I were somehow intruding on the beautiful and obviously passionate romance between he and Fanny Brawne. I also felt saddened at the realization of the heart breaking truth of the circumstances in which many of the letters were written:
John Keats knew he was dying, and he knew he would never truly be with Fanny. That having been said, they made the most of their short time together, and during that time Keats was inspired to write some of the most beautiful and enduring poetry known to man. This book gives but a small taste of that poetry, but the letters we are priviledged to read really shine. Fanny kept them long after Keats' death, and only gave them up to her children upon her death. Many feel she was capitalizing off the fact these would bring money, comming from such a beloved poet.
I feel strongly, however, that Fanny knew what we now know...that the letters would be a gift to the world, and a true showcase of the genius of John Keats.
John Keats knew he was dying, and he knew he would never truly be with Fanny. That having been said, they made the most of their short time together, and during that time Keats was inspired to write some of the most beautiful and enduring poetry known to man. This book gives but a small taste of that poetry, but the letters we are priviledged to read really shine. Fanny kept them long after Keats' death, and only gave them up to her children upon her death. Many feel she was capitalizing off the fact these would bring money, comming from such a beloved poet.
I feel strongly, however, that Fanny knew what we now know...that the letters would be a gift to the world, and a true showcase of the genius of John Keats.
December 23, 2010
This is a companion book to the Jane Campion-directed film Bright Star about John Keats and Fanny Brawne. It is first a collection of letters written from Keats to Brawne and it ends with a selection of his poetry. The letters are absolutely wonderful love letters-- beautiful, simple, captivating. They are mostly written during the illness that would end his life, so of course they are poignant, but moreso they are simply beautiful love letters. This volume truly shows the complete unity of the writer, the poet, and the man.
I plan to read more of Keats particularly because the letters seem so modern in tone. He must have been an amazing young man of his time (1795-1821).
I highly recommend this book.
I plan to read more of Keats particularly because the letters seem so modern in tone. He must have been an amazing young man of his time (1795-1821).
I highly recommend this book.
September 19, 2011
Divided into two diverse parts between the love letters and the poems, this is Keats in love and inspired. It is also more poignantly a vision of Keats slowly fading and with the final letters he disappears from the world.
Out of this devotion comes a portrait of Fanny Brawne, whose presence, rather than ghostly and ethereal, stands instead of looming as a kind of grounded substance and whose, so grounded, being contrasts strangely and almost unromantically with the more lifted imagination of Keats.
Of the poems, "Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art" drew me in the most, but I have a bias. The book was published to coincide with the release of Jane Campion's biopic "Bright Star" and the film comes highly recommended from me.
Out of this devotion comes a portrait of Fanny Brawne, whose presence, rather than ghostly and ethereal, stands instead of looming as a kind of grounded substance and whose, so grounded, being contrasts strangely and almost unromantically with the more lifted imagination of Keats.
Of the poems, "Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art" drew me in the most, but I have a bias. The book was published to coincide with the release of Jane Campion's biopic "Bright Star" and the film comes highly recommended from me.
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