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gri_2003_m_46_b01_f01_001

Transcribers

  1. 65359082 - southsidesunny
  2. 65365324 - not-logged-in-d5fd60d4e8729720c9ba
  3. 65401607 - tpod74
  4. WINNER - 65413927 - not-logged-in-50d143bd84339763bf4e
  5. 65418227 - not-logged-in-886bb43aed0756a7207f

65359082 - southsidesunny

WIMbledon 1967 11 MANSEL ROAD,
WIMBLEDON.

Sunday

Dearest Sylvia:
The house is banal and desolate.
Without you it has relapsed into its
customary horror. I have even failed
to find any souvener of you; no hair
for a locket, no hair pins, you might
not have been here except for my
memory which has overwhelmed the
present ugliness. I keep remembering
you: once, smoothing my eye-brows, hiding under the bed clothes---( how
did you wake yourself so flat?)
walking round the abominable draw-
ing-room, the dot of blood on your ear.
I could go on for the length of this let-
ter: how can one might leave such an
elaborate impression? I so wish you
were still here. As I write I can hear
two clocks ticking: one goes urgently at
great speed while the other, the grand-
father you reworked, is louder & stately.
I feel as if Edgar Allen Poe's raven will
arrive soon. I feel very lonely in your
absence. All I can do is write poems for
you. Auden said once that the best love
poetry was written to ideal figures but
I no longer agree with this. You are both

65365324 - not-logged-in-d5fd60d4e8729720c9ba

Sunday

Dearest Sylvia:
The house is banal and desolate. Without you is has relapsed into its customary horror. I have even failed to find any souvenir of you; no hair for a locket no hair pins, you might not have been here except for my memory which has overwhelmed our present ugliness. I keep remembering you; once, smoothing my eyebrows, hiding under the bed clothes...(how did you make yourself so dear?), walking round the abominable drawing room, the dot of blood on your ear. I could go on for the length of this letter; how can one night leave such an elaborate impression? I so wish you were still here. As I write I can hear two clocks ticking; one goes urgently at great speed while the other, the grandfather you reworked, is louder & stately. I feel as if Edgar Allen Poe's raven will arrive soon. I feel very lonely in your absence. All I can do is write poems for you. Auden said once that the best love poetry was written to ideal figures but I no longer agree with this. You are both

2/2/48

65401607 - tpod74

WIMbledon 1967
11 MANSEL ROAD
WIMBLEDON

Sunday

Dearest Sylvia:

The house is banal and desolate. Without you it has relapsed into its customary horror. I have even failed to find any souvenirs of you: no hair for a locket, no hair pins, you might not have been here except (underlined) for memory which overwhelmed all present ugliness. I keep remembering you; once smoothing my eye-brows, hiding under the bed clothes... (how did you make yourself so dear ?) , walking round the indomitable 'drawing room', the dot of blood on your ear I could go on for the length of this letter; how can one might leave such an elaborate impression? I so wish you were still here. As I write I can hear two clocks ticking; one goes urgently at great speed while the other, the grand-father you rewarded/rewounded , is loudest and states. I feel as if Edgar Allen Poe's ravens will arrive soon. I feel very lonely in your absence. All I can do write poems for you. Auden said once that the best love poetry was written to ideal figures but I no longer agree with this. You are both

WINNER - 65413927 - not-logged-in-50d143bd84339763bf4e

[2/2/48]
WIMbledon 1967 11 MANSEL ROAD
WIMDLEDON
Sunday
Dearest Sylvia:
The house is banal and desolate
without you it has relapsed into its
customary horror. I have even failed
to find any souvenirs of you; no hairs
for a locket, no hair pins, you might
not have been here except for my
memory which has overwhelmed the
present ugliness. I keep remembering
you: once smooothering my eye-brows,
hiding under the the bed clothes...(how did
you make yourself so great?) i'm
walking round the abominable 'draw-
ing room, the dot of blood on your ear.
I could go on for the length of this let-
ter: how can one night leave such an
elaborate impression? I so wish you
were still here. As I write I can hear
two clocks ticking: one goes urgently at
great speed while the other the grand-
father you remarked is louder & stately.
I feel as if Edgar Allen Poe's raven will
arrive soon. I feel very lonely in your
absence, all I can do is write poems for
you. auden said once that the best love
Poetry was written to ideal figures but
I no longer agree with this. You are both

65418227 - not-logged-in-886bb43aed0756a7207f

Sunday

Dearest Sylvia

The house is banal and desolate. Without you it has relapsed into its customary horror. I have even failed to find any souvenirs of you; re hair for a locket, no hair pins, you might not have been here except for my memory which has overwhelmed the present ugliness. I keep remembering you; once, smoothing my eye-brows, hiding under the bed clothes........ ( how did you make yourself so flat ?) I'm walking around the abominable 'drawing room' the dot of blood on your ear. I would go on for the length of this letter; how can one night leave such an elaborate impression ? I so wish you were still here. As I write I can hear two clocks ticking ; one goes urgently at great speed while the other, the grandfather you rewound is louder and stately. I feel as if Edgar Allen Poes raven will arrive soon. I feel very lonely in your absence. All I can do is write poems for you. Auden said once that the best love poetry was written to ideal figures but I no longer agree with this. You are both

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