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Haunted: John Donne

If thou be’st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee
And swear,  No where
Lives a woman true and fair.
John Donne

Do you remember some years ago, 400 or so, if one would be exact, there was a poet born? I remember how you looked at him. I remember how you sang to him, how you danced with him, and how you left him.

Poor soul, he married foolishly, and quickly, stayed a time in prison for it, in fact. Lost his living, his religion, twelve children, and his life. John-Donne, Anne-Donne,  Un-Done, he said.

He traveled so far, looking, searching, wanting. He sailed with Sir Walter and the Lord Essex, for a time, and saw the last of the grand ship San Felipe , saw all aboard die, saw the ship burn, and sink beneath the waves. He looked for you in Germany, in the embassy at the Princes court. And in Italy.

He did not return to England for many years. And never a word of what he wrote, while he lived, was read. Not until long after he had died.

What do you think he and Jemmie, that first King James, spoke of late at night? That was a King who saw too much, but had not the soul, or imagination for it to destroy him…I had something to do with that. It was one of my, let us say, slight miscalculations. I regret what came after. Too many dreamers died, too much magic was lost, all stemming¬† from his fear of demons, of witches, of things that can happen in the night.

Never was a poet born who lived happily. I think, when they see such things, hear such things, and dream such dreams, it is better for them in the next world than this. They burn so brightly. It is worse for them if we find them. Or better. You can look indifferent and shrug if you want to, but there is some truth in what I say.

I just wondered if you remembered these things.

For I think you might be about to make a slight miscalculation of your own.