Bright Star by John Keats
Publisher:  Penguin (Non-Classics)
Published:   September 2nd 2009

Paperback, 144 pages

The epic romance of one of the most celebrated poets in the English language

Coming to theatres in September 2009 is the tragic love story of nineteenth- century poet John Keats and the love of his life, Fanny Brawne. Keats died at the young age of twenty-five, leaving behind some of the most exquisite and moving verse and letters ever written, inspired by his deep love for Fanny. Bright Star is a collection of Keats’ romantic poems and correspondence in the heat of his passion, and is a dazzling display of a talent cut cruelly short.

This book was absolutely amazing!  John Keats is one of the best poets I have ever had the honor to read. Having died at the age of 25, John Keats may have lived a short life but his poetry and letters show he knew much more about love and life than most of us today. This book, in particular, serves as a companion to the 2009 movie “Bright Star”, staring Abbie Cornish and Ben Whishaw. As the movie focuses on the doomed romantic relationship between John Keats and Fanny Brawne, this book offers selected poetry and letters that John Keats wrote to Fanny. Unfortunately, none of Fanny Brawne’s letters have survived.

Despite the fact that all the letters included in this book are all from John Keats, you still are given a glance into his heart. After reading this book I was in awe at how deep and personal his letters and poems were. A few tears were shed, both of sadness and happiness. Even though Fannny Brawne did finally marry six years after Keats death you can not believe anything but that these two were soul mates in the highest sense of the word. 

My Rating

I recommend at least watching the movie! Its a perfect movie and is gorgeous to watch!

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art–
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors–
No–yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever–or else swoon to death.
 
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