Poetic placidity

Yesterday a friend and I ventured into Albany for a film and Lebanese take-out (mm, baba ghannouj). This particular friend and I make an effort to visit our favorite local independent theatre as often as possible -- to escape, however briefly, into the captivating world of motion pictures where our minds journey with the characters on screen and our heart-strings get tugged at a little (or a lot). It had been a while since any one film dropped its anchor in my core and stayed there until the credits ended. It had been a while since any one film held my eyes wide and attuned my ears to my heart. "Bright Star" was just that film.

A Thing of Beauty

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkn'd ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
-John Keats, 1818, from Endymion

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