Bright Star Page #2

It's so hot in this bed.

I was so scared for a while.

-Calm down.

-I just panicked.

I want to go. I want to leave. It smells.

Or I'II cut your hair in the night.

-Good evening, John.

-Young man, how are you?

Good evening.

Well, Keats,

I hope you've not forgotten your bassoon.

Of course not. It's in my waistcoat pocket.

-Hello, Mr. Keats.

-Hello, Minx.

How's Tom?

Gentlemen of the orchestra,

just through here.

Ladies, straight ahead, please. Thank you.

Hurry on, gentlemen.

Is he showing any signs of improvement?

Don't ask me of Tom, Minx.

The only good I can do

is say how I love him.

Hurry on, gentlemen.

Shall we open the claret?

Someone submitted anonymously

to The Examiner a most exquisite sonnet

composed on the subject of whether

Love itself could be the 10th muse. Severn!

-Come on.

-En garde!

Right.

That's my sword, you brute.

Love the 10th muse?

It's full of the most perfect allusions

and really beautifully realized.

I thought at first it might be one of yours.

We were just telling Mrs. Brawne

of John Keats' review in Blackwood's.

Was it so very bad?

''No man could have profaned and vulgarized

''every association in the manner which has

been adopted by this 'son of promise.'''

Did they not admire the opening?

It was perfect. Even I could know that.

-Do you Like poetry, Miss Brawne?

-No.

Poems are a strain to work out.

John, we are talking, or are about to talk,

of your defense

of Mr. Keats' poem Endymion.

Yes.

''I have clung

To nothing, lov'd a nothing, nothing seen

''Or felt but a great dream! O I have been

''Presumptuous against Love

against the sky

''Against all elements, against the tie

Of mortals each to each''

The rhythm is beautiful and unique.

There are rhymes, but not on the beat.

They're quiet, but binding.

And the repetitions set you up to fly.

''I have clung

To nothing, lovd a nothing, nothing seen''

And here you come out

''Or felt but a great dream!''

It's beautiful.

Well, there are immaturities,

but there are also immensities,

and that is what they didn't say.

It was said. You said it, Brother.

Thank you.

Very bravely.

Ladies, the Hampstead Heathens

are about to begin.

-Reynolds?

-I thought I'd been expelled.

No. I think not. You're very much needed.

Mr. Keats is dead.

Mr. Keats is dead. So young.

Is it Tom?

I woke with the strange sensation

of someone holding my hand.

I opened my eyes, and there was John.

I knew immediately what had happened,

and then he said,

''Tom died at 8:
00, quietly and without pain.''

Of course, he can't go on living there,

so I have invited Mr. Keats

to come and stay with me.

Well, we do have a Long schedule of visits.

I don't want to interfere with your city plans,

but you are most welcome

to have dinner with us.

-Minx? Are you unwell?

-We have provided and set the table.

No, no, no, not at all.

-I've never seen you so quiet.

-I would appreciate it.

We do have some city business.

She sewed it all night Long.

It's a pillow slip.

Then I will rest Tom's head upon it.

Keats, the Reynolds are expecting us.

I'II catch you up. Thank you.

Invite me again, alone.

Come for Christmas.

Yes, please do join us, Mr. Keats, please.

But Marianne Reynolds invited us

for Christmas. Remember?

You were there when she said it.

They're having musicians.

I am sorry to spoil things.

Not at all. Wherever Mr. Keats is happy,

we're happy for him.

-Thank you, Mrs. Brawne.

-But why can't he be happy with us?

Perhaps Mr. Brown wants

Mr. Keats all to himself.

I am merely remembering to Mr. Keats

a previous engagement.

Miss Brawne, I thought we were conversing.

''Dear Mrs. Brawne.

May I yet join you for Christmas?

''I have not the health

nor the heart to be anywhere

''but with a family such as your own.

John Keats.''

Thank you.

I was wondering this morning

if you're sleeping in my bed.

Pardon?

You see, I believe you are.

We rented Mr. Brown's half of the house

this summer

while you were journeying in Scotland.

Which room do you sleep in?

The one overlooking the back garden.

That was my bed.

For proof, pull it from the wall

and by the pillow, you will find a figure

I drew with pin holes.

Is the figure you?

It's a fairy princess.

-Should I be feeding her?

-She refuses to eat.

Would you teach me poetry?

I'd... I'd Like to understand it.

I don't know how to begin.

And it's three to the right.

Two, three. Three to the left.

Two, three.

And down. And keep it going.

So that's the English drawing room.

And this is something

that I saw in Scotland.

They kick,

and they jump,

and they twirl it,

and they sweat it,

and they tattooed the floor Like mad!

What about a poem?

-Yes. Please, Mr. Keats.

-A short one.

''When I have fears that I may cease to be

''Before my pen has glean'd

my teeming brain

''Before high-piled books, in charact'ry

''Hold Like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain

''When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face

''Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance''

-I do apologize. I've gone blank.

-You're tired.

Should you Like some sweet?

Shall we have coffee and sweet?

Come through to our side.

I've come for my poetry class.

Your poetry class?

Poetry classes!

Keats, are we teaching poetry today?

I hope I don't disturb.

Take a seat.

Have a look at that.

A poet is not at all poetical.

He is the most un-poetical thing

in existence.

He has no identity.

He is continually filling some other body,

the sun, the moon.

I cannot restrain my credibility longer.

Miss Brawne,

is this really you or are you acting?

-It's really me.

-Is it?

Charles, I have a pupil.

-Desist or depart.

-Apologies.

My modest hope is that the cost

of the lesson will not be the poet.

The cost of the lesson is that Mr. Keats

will forthwith discuss poetry with me.

You don't mean to read the poems?

Until I know all the poets and poems

in the world,

since I've nothing to do,

as you so many times have noted.

I bow to your ambition.

Now he's gone, I shall find it easier to talk.

Can you say something

of the craft of poetry?

Poetic craft is a carcass, a sham.

If poetry does not come as naturally

as leaves to a tree,

then it had better not come at all.

I am mistaken.

I am not sure I can teach you.

Was I too rude? I... I can apologize.

I'm not sure I have

the right feelings towards women.

I'm suspicious of my feelings.

Do you not Like me?

I'm attracted to you without knowing why.

AII women confuse me, even my mother.

I yearn to be ruined by shrews

and saved by angels,

and in reality,

I've only ever really loved my sister.

I'm annoyed by my sister

as often as I Love her.

I still don't know how to work out a poem.

A poem needs understanding

through the senses.

The point of diving in a lake

is not immediately to swim to the shore

but to be in the Lake,

to luxuriate in the sensation of water.

You do not work the lake out.

It is an experience beyond thought.

Poetry soothes and emboldens

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