This is a difficult letter to write. It’s always hard to reach out to a past love without it being weird. Because I did love you once. Or at least I think I did. I, at least, felt like I should. You were so important a figure. So distinguished. So loved. It was like I didn’t have a choice but to love you. Especially because I’d already decided that my future lay, at least in terms of my education, in the realm of Romanticism. If you want to study this period it’s kind of impossible to ignore you. We all know you were like the father of the whole movement. Plus, I went to a university in Lancashire, near your beloved Lake District, so they properly loved you.
So I tried. I played the part. And I did love some of your poems. Tintern Abbey is a wonderful piece of prose and the first book of The Prelude is a fabulous thing to read. I don’t think you are terrible, by any means, but I can’t say that I was as enamoured as I felt I should be. I don’t wish to sound rude but there are better poets out there. Obviously there are worse (not mentioning any names *cough* Keats) but it’s not like you were that special. I kept thinking “maybe I’m just not getting it” or “maybe it’s just too clever for me”. I started to doubt myself and just forced myself to like you more. I got deeper and deeper until I genuinely didn’t know what to believe anymore. But, really, I think you’re okay.
Have you ever heard the song ‘If I didn’t have you’ by Tim Minchin? I don’t see why you would have considering you died in 1850 but go with me for a second. In that song, the comedian postulates that if he hadn’t met his wife when he did then he’s probably just have fallen in love with someone else. It’s a great song, worth a listen if you ever feel like it. But, my point is, if I hadn’t ever read any of your poems then I don’t feel as though my life would be missing something. Basically, if I didn’t have you then some other poet would do. And even you have to admit that in between all of your big hitters there are a lot of duds. Coleridge knew it. Hazlitt knew it. You must have known it. Surely just because ‘I wandered lonely’ has stood the test of time doesn’t mean we can forgive all of your boring political shit later in life? Right?
But maybe this isn’t a fair assessment. I think it’s safe to say we have a pretty messy break-up so it might be clouding my judgement. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the greatest idea to write my undergraduate dissertation on a poet that I wasn’t sure I liked but that was the choice I made. For months I studied your poems, your diaries, and you letters. I knew you so well it meant there were very few surprises left. Our relationship started to go stale. By the end, we were like the married couple in ‘Brothers on a Hotel Bed’ by Death Cab For Cutie. Saying goodbye from our own separate sides. We spent too much time together. Stopped appreciating each other. We only stayed together for the essay. Once it grew up and moved out of the house we had nothing left keeping us together.
So, that’s why I haven’t really been in touch with you lately. I went through a period of saying hurtful things about you to make myself feel better. It wasn’t the most mature thing I’ve ever done but it made me feel better. And I learnt my lesson. Everything I wrote about in my postgraduate dissertation is still something I love. I ended up finding something good. So I hope you have too. One day, maybe, we can be friends again. After all, we went through so much together that it feels like such a shame to waste it. We’ll see.
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive
Who is Murdocal? A casual critic who is a little bit too obsessed with pop culture. A young woman who swears and rants much more than she knows she should whilst trying to make her way in an adult world she isn't prepared for. A not as recent as she'd like literature graduate who, between job applications and subsequent rejections, has turned to the internet to fight the boredom and review the shit out of everything.
"Maybe, just maybe, I'm the faller. Every family has someone who falls, who doesn't make the grade, who stumbles, who life trips up. Maybe I'm our faller."