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Click hereSome years ago I was shown a letter, from a husband to his wife.
She had left him and she let me read what he wrote.
He was a lecturer at a small university, which was proud
To have him, a noted poet. His name was known.
He was also violent, beat her. She was afraid
For herself and for their young son. The university
Did nothing. They knew but did not wish to know.
So she left and came to England with her son.
There I met her and her son. Friends of friends.
An odd boy, very quiet but with no hint of darkness.
They lived in Lincoln with her parents in a strange house,
A gate house to a great estate, tiny rooms with high ceilings,
Grand and meagre all at once.
He followed her and came to that house. But she was out.
Her mother was there and he broke in. He beat her up, the mother;
Put her in hospital, the police were called. Afterwards,
A policeman spoke to them in private. He had met his type,
He said that man could kill.
She showed me a poem that he wrote. Full of solemn words
And hidden meanings - at least so it seemed. For me,
It was opaque. And I read his letter to his wife.
Mean and vicious, full of self pity, recriminations and abuse.
Not even well written. No rounded tones, no deep meaning,
Just a mean and shallow soul.
I have heard it said of Boswell and his book of Johnson’s life,
That he wrote a great book because he was a great fool.
But I do not believe this was so. Was this man a great poet,
Despite this letter window to his soul?
I did not buy his slim volume. His name I do not recall.
His wife and I are no longer close. At some point she took offence,
At some small honesty. I do not think about them
But sometimes I do wonder
Concerning the boy.
"His wife and I are no longer close. At some point she took offence,
At some small honesty."
Most women say they value honesty above all else, but it's a rare woman who truly does. Most prefer a pleasant lie over an unpleasant truth.
Great build and conclusion
I don't think we need to know any more of the husband and his writings - my mind was made up by "he beat her" and "he beat her up, the mother." I loved the last 2 stanzas for different reasons - one brings home the judgement the other makes it more human. "At some small honesty" is a great comment and men are formed as boys - your concern is well founded.
I don’t understand your concern, Cleardaynow, about the boy in the end. I mean, he must be about 25 years old man by now, able to fend for himself. My daddy had me when he was 22, but he was man enough to feed me, bring me up, educate me and all that. That's what I believe your friend's son should be able to do by now. I would also like you to transmit somehow that poem by your friend's husband, however little you remember of it, so that we can form a completely unbiased opinion if we are to re-assess the situation.
life still spins on, unaltered by ripples, TK U MLJ LV NV
This account is completely true and accurate - as far as my memory of over 25 years ago will permit. I have altered nothing for effect.