Keats and me - Separated by 200 years

 I'm nobody's poet. Let's get that out of the way straight away.  Heck, I hardly read much poetry anymore. But I AM a certifiable history nerd. So today in history...200 years ago...John Keats, aged 25, lost his battle with most likely tuberculosis in Rome. The first of the biggie English Romantic poets to say ciao to this life.

Hands up who knows who John Keats was? That's right, he is one of the most influential English poets in history. Yes, chances are you came across his works in your high school English literature class if you stayed awake. His buddies included Lord Byron and Percy Bysshe Shelley. Collectively, they were poet giants of the Romantic era, and lived pretty wild lives by the standards of their era.

Admittedly, I'm not an expert on any of Keats', or the others, work. However, I came across his (and Shelley's) graves in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome on a trip years ago. (It was a beautiful experience, if one can use that term.)

As so often happens in life, a chance encounter with a grave thousands of miles from home can make one think, perhaps spur interest...in poetry, literature, art in general.

Today's the bicentennial of Keats' death. He was just 25 years old.  

Maybe pick up a book of his poetry? Or any poetry? 

Not a bad idea.

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