There is something pedantic about this piece - like a maiden aunt - that
captures the questions it evokes in the reader's mind.
You make it both easy and hard to believe that it is possible to be 'happy'
without 'happiness'.
It took me a while, but once I realised that, the last line made sense. I
had felt uncomfortable with the 'She never tried to believe'. It felt
unnecessary. One could say, 'she never believed'. But, as written, it holds
onto the sense of effort - the trying to believe that, despite chronic
unhappiness, life is worth living.
Well done
Terri )O(
-----Original Message-----
From: The Pennine Poetry Works [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf
Of Mike Horwood
Sent: 02 February 2004 09:55
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: new sub: Claire Clairmont
Claire Clairmont And Allegra
It is not true to say that her soul was withered
within her by the death of her five-year-old child,
though she said herself she had never again smiled
absolutely; without happiness she could still be happy.
Far from familiar scenes she stepped on strange stairs
to her room´s cold and lonely austerity.
But she often remarked, those whom posterity
had honoured with greatness were numbered among her friends,
though her passage through life had been solitary.
And when she died, in a country remote from her
daughter´s grave, the shawl, her lover´s last gift to her
sixty years earlier, was laid in the coffin.
When violet evening clouds were edged with orange,
reflected in still water, she watched the day´s slow wane.
And though this scene could not remove her pain,
she never tried to believe that her loss negated its beauty.
Mike
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