Paul Schneider - Bright Star - Poetry Lesson lyrics

Fanny Brawne: I've come for my poetry cla**. Mr. Brown: Your poetry cla**? Poetry cla**es! Keats, are we teaching poetry today? I hope I don't disturb. John Keats: Take a seat. Have a look at that. A poet is not at all poetical. He is the most un-poetical thing in existence. He has no identity. He is continually filling some other body, the sun, the moon. Mr. Brown: I cannot restrain my credibility longer. Miss Brawne, is this really you or are you acting? John Keats: It's really me. Mr. Brown: Is it? John Keats: Charles, I have a pupil. Desist or depart. Mr. Brown: Apologies. My modest hope is that the cost of the lesson will not be the poet. Fanny Brawne: The cost of the lesson is that Mr. Keats will forthwith discuss poetry with me. Mr. Brown: You don't mean to read the poems? Fanny Brawne: Until I know all the poets and poems in the world, since I've nothing to do, as you so many times have noted. Mr. Brown: I bow to your ambition. Fanny Brawne: Now he's gone, I shall find it easier to talk. Can you say something of the craft of poetry? John Keats: Poetic craft is a carca**, a sham. If poetry does not come as naturally as leaves to a tree, then it had better not come at all. I am mistaken. I am not sure I can teach you. Fanny Brawne: Was I too rude? I... I can apologize. John Keats: I'm not sure I have the right feelings towards women. I'm suspicious of my feelings. Fanny Brawne: Do you not Like me? John Keats: I'm attracted to you without knowing why. All women confuse me, even my mother. I yearn to be ruined by shrews and saved by angels, and in reality, I've only ever really loved my sister. Fanny Brawne: I'm annoyed by my sister as often as I Love her. I still don't know how to work out a poem. John Keats: A poem needs understanding through the senses. John Keats: The point of diving in a lake is not immediately to swim to the shore but to be in the Lake, to luxuriate in the sensation of water. You do not work the lake out. It is an experience beyond thought. Poetry soothes and emboldens the soul to accept mystery. Fanny Brawne: I love mystery. John Keats: I found your fairy princess on the wall in my room. Fanny Brawne: And you could make her out? John Keats: She wears a bu*terfly frock. Shall we continue?