Sometimes you can’t always articulate why you like something or someone — you just do. That’s how it was for me from the moment I read Keats. There was an immediate connection through his poetry and with his mind. And I liked it. But for years I simply carried that feeling around, and treasured it, even though I am pretty dumb when it comes to literary criticism, and failed to make those connections. But that stuff makes me dizzy!
Now I realize another thing I love about him.
The fact that he was not properly schooled to be a poet. He just happened to be born a poet, regardless of his educational credentials. And he died way too young. But he accomplished what he set out to do, even though he may have not known it upon his death (but I suspect he did) and has garnered respectability and interest over the centuries.
It wasn’t an easy task what he set out to do. But he did it. And as long as we continue to read, he will live indefinitely.