This Grave contains all that was mortal, of a YOUNG ENGLISH POET, who on his Death Bed, in the Bitterness of his heart, at the Malicious Power of his enemies, desired these words to be Engraven on his Tomb Stone:
“Here lies One Whose Name was writ in Water”
To do justice to the name of John Keats is impossible. A name that while unknown and almost camouflaged during most, if not all, of his life still garnered a great deal of respect from those who knew him and learned of his truly powerful abilities with the written word. If his life had had more time than what was given to him, would the face of writing be changed more than it already had after his death? Would his name be spoken of at the same caliber as Shakespeare, for example, if it had not already been done before?
It seems like with only 25 years of life, our world gained perhaps a tap instead of a push in a progressive direction in writing. And yet, it only took him 25 years to make this much of an effect. Praise and depression are what bring me to write of him. Praise for his ability. Depression for his early passing.
While Shelley wrote in his poem Adonais, thinking of Keats near the end, lines such as:
“Peace Peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep
He hath awakened from the dream of life”
and these words may be true, it does not change the effect he could no longer induce upon the world with new writing.
One day, I will be unable to find more to learn of John Keats. I will not find anymore of his writings to read. No more of his words will I be able to read and feel inspired. To this end I do not search for them specifically, although I never find fault in those writings that I come across by chance in life.
The words give more emotion, in anticipation, fear, and many others, that no other writer in the history of mankind has done. Not Blake. Not Wordsworth. Not Shelley. Not Frost. Not Hemmingway. Not Shakespeare. Not Faulkner. Not Tolkien. And certainly not my own.
While I do not envy the shortness of his life, I envy his passion and the people who stood next to him although he could not see them. For while he wrote his name in water, his friends wrote it in the stones of history.
Going off of your last paragraph:
ReplyDeleteI'm not quite sure how the saying goes, but it's something to do with a shooting star illuminating the entire night sky for a brief moment v.s. being a stationary star in the night sky, illuminating only that which is immediately around. There've been many creators who were only with us for a short time but were able to achieve something that most people who live to old age only dream of. I agree that Keats will be added onto this list but I also think that if Keats were to have lived on, his 'illumination' of the night sky would've killed us. While anyone can only speculate, I can imagine Keats driving himself and possibly his audience to madness. On another note, maybe his writings would've uncovered some secret forbidden to mortals. It's a little sci-fi, but who knows?
At the very least, Keats' reputation is preserved. It can't get better but it can't get worse either.