I cried when I saw that Seamus Heaney had died on Friday, tears that were some mix of love of the beauty of his poems, gratitude for the sound of line from a sonnet that caught my imagination as an undergraduate, and a deep sense of loss for all the poems that will never be written now.
And then I read this and just about cried again. The idea of a poet texting Latin to his wife makes my heart leap.
Noli timere.
Don't be afraid.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please comment! And please be nice. We'd prefer if you'd use your first name, but understand if you'd rather not.