by Saturn » Mon Oct 15, 2012 7:02 am
That image of Keats was already killed a long time ago in critics and biographers minds', but for the general public, and even some people here, they want to believe Keats was some ethereal, faery-like figure who was too delicate and perfect for this world, which is nonsense, but a myth perpetuated by people who should have known better like Shelley, and later Wilde.
I've been banging on about this for years, so apologies if I seem rather forthright about it, but I like to think I have a realistic and down-to-earth view of Keats myself; much as I adore his poems and admire much about his personality, he was very far from perfect or flawless, like anyone else he was a flesh-and-blood man about town, a rough tough brawler at times, not a wilting flower, a simpering dandy.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".