alsemero

It is with a slow, sinking sense of despair that you realise you have, somehow, manoeuvered yourself into a confined space where the ability to move, let alone turn or break free, has become virtually impossible.

You are hemmed in by conventions, morals, opinions, obligations, responsibilities and the simple realities of day-to-day existence.

"Man's reach should outstretch his grasp or what's a heaven for?". Indeed. But if, to even attempt to reach means you will break down the walls and cause undeserved hurt, then what choices are left?

To be the subject of someone’s love or the object of their desire.

If we had to choose, which would it be?

Amongst a recently discovered set of papers found in a trunk in the attic of a 17th century cottage, the following incredible document was found. It is a letter by the poet, Andrew Marvell, that includes an early draft of his famous poem, ‘To His Coy Mistress’. Experts believe it was probably never sent and are making further checks on the veracity of the document.

Anyway, here it is ...

Dear Coy Mistress,
I saw you the other day down at the butchers and, struck by your bewitching beauty and your modest charms, I have written a poem:

Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness lady were no crime,
We would sit about and chat for a bit
We could go for a few drinks down the local

Oh sod it, I’m a bit pushed, do you fancy a shag or what?
Yours in anticipation
Andy Marvell.

“This out there and this in me, all this, everything, the resultant of inexplicable forces. A chaos whose order is beyond comprehension”
Henry Miller : Black Spring

Strange how we function at two levels.

We present a face to the world - 'this is who we are' or at least what we want people to think we are and it can change depending on place, other people, circumstances.

Then we have our interior face. Secret and private. How different is this to what we show on the outside? How much do we show?

And though we know that this is human nature, we still find it difficult to imagine the secret and interior workings of another person.

It is intriguing yet, at times, strangely banal. And our expression of these other layers, through poetry and art, never quite captures all that we feel; yet these expressions are often greater and more powerful than we could ever experience at an individual level.

“... utopian moment of travel: when you realise that what seems most unattainably marvellous, most desirable, is what you almost already have, what you could have – if you could only strip away the banality and the corruption of the everyday – at home”

Stephen Greenblatt : Marvellous Possessions