Sunday, April 30, 2017

Two outstanding studies of Shelley

Where does a writer catch
my eye?

His bedroom window looked west, towards the setting sun. There was a wide lawn, with a shallow bank to roll down, and then a cluster of enormous trees, elms with rooks in, cedars, American redwoods brought back to England by his grandfather, and further and darker, rhododendrons and fir trees. Through the trees was the lake. Then there was the orchard and the south meadow, and beyond an even bigger lake which was called Warnham Pond. It was two lakes really, joined by a stone bridge. His father kept the boat there, and the fishing lines. His father stood among the reeds and shot the wild duck, with their bottle-green feathers, and the snipe.

   On his best days the curtain
   of clouds was gone. The blue
   sky stretched above him un-
   marked and unobscured and in-
   spiration moved there, almost

I'm taken.

Richard Holmes
  The Pursuit
New York Review Books, 1994©

Ann Wroe
Being Shelley
  The Poet's Search for Himself
Random House/Pantheon, 2007©

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