My muse

Last night I watched a brilliantly made movie, titled "Bright Star." It told the romantic story of the the great poet, John Keats, who wrote heart-felt poetry, and his muse, Fanny Brawne. Although it was a simple love story, it was directed with such tour de force and passion that it left you in awe. Everything was done just right, the costumes, the choice of actors, the locations, the stage design, and the development of the plot and the characters. Being an art lover, I always value the worth of a movie in its cinematography as well. I was mesmerized by the creativity and the artistic power of various scenes in the movie. Matching the camera angles and the lightning with the moods of the characters or of the scenes was done in perfection. I could feel, not just see, the emotional distance between the characters as the camera would take far away shots or shots from above. I could feel her loneliness at times by the colors presented or the weather portrayed outside. I could feel her joy as she walked wrapped in a purple velvet coat through amorous purple flowers . You could feel their love for each other and sense their thoughts as the camera closed in and captured their calm, but passionate gaze. Another beautiful feature of this film was the poetry itself. The director had done a brilliant job in incorporating it at proper times. My favorite part was the last scene as Fanny feeling only coldness in her heart and saddened by life is warmed up by reciting her lover's words. You can feel it as the warmth of love and passionate words reach her heart. Needless to say, I really enjoyed this movie.

The beautiful, but sad, love story of John Keats made me think that without his muse his talents would have been hidden, or at least not fully ripened as they were those last three years of his life. It is a beautiful thing to have found your muse. And make no mistake about it, we all need one, whether it be for poetry or for life. As I've reflected this week about what I've missed more about my husband, not having had him this week, the answer came to me last night as I was watching this movie. My life functioned pretty well this week; I actually got to be selfish without feeling guilty and did whatever I wanted with my time, whether it was mopping floors at ten o'clock at night, reading till three in the morning, or watching two movies in a row. Not that I can't do this while Elijah is home, but I try to be a bit considerate of his needs as well. So, it wasn't that I needed any help managing kids, home or life. What I missed the most was having my companion alongside me lending me a hand, or an ear. I missed his presence, the assurance it gives me when Elijah is around. I missed his love, his good words, his encouraging gazes, his understanding. I missed the unspoken thoughts floating in the air being caught by the other and bringing a smile on my face, knowing that my husband can tell what I'm thinking. I missed his expressed thoughts that match my thoughts at the same time. I missed my muse. Looking forward to his homecoming tomorrow!

I like poetry. I haven't studied or read it as I have prose, and as such I do not confess to understand it fully, but I truly like it. Poetry has power over all my senses as I read it, and I'm captivated by its beautiful world of words. It's those words that transport me to a different kind of reality that I can grasp even when I'm sitting in my chair. John Keats' talent makes it easy for anyone to appreciate poetry. I like a lot of lines from his poems, but I'll share the poem that gave the movie its name, and Fanny Brawne her heart back.

Bright star, would I were steadfast 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.