gri_2004_m_4_b01_f05_032
- Max. dissimilarity: 0.145
- Mean dissimilarity: 0.093
- Image votes: 0.0
Transcribers
- 65648193 - saffyre13
- WINNER - 65848060 - nosenabook
- 66177337 - star-lightcox.net
- 66236619 - fennas
- 66367074 - altheist
- 66368928 - SailorVal
65648193 - saffyre13
BlackheathWednesday 7 IX 1945
Dearest Sylvia
My muse, I love you so much . I adore you, while you are away, in imagination, with thoughts based on the future and the past which make the present bearable or, rather, illuminate the dull summer until your dazzling presence. My pen has been rather inhibited in the past few letters but my love for you and design for you to be here is unchanged. Undoubtedly my love wars with resentment or melancholy but this letter will slow the frequent outcome of such conflicts.
I wish I had a loving poem to send you, not the rather detailed ones I've been sending you which are both cerebral and slight:
I am working on a poem which is not yet complete but I shall send it soon as a document of desire, a lecture on love.
My loving and involuntary memories of you are both delightful in their grace and beauty, and unsatisfactory because I desire you here so much. But it is your beauty, as I say, not my complaints that is in my mind today. Not your beauty in terms of time - anticipation or retrospection - but simply as a wealth of exquisite and magical imagery, a brilliant collection of jewels all of which represent aspects of your appearance and identity.
Each image is informed with a wealth of associations so the total idea of you has space as well as colour. The jewels are you as my lover, ravishing and bright, while, in the associations attacking to each jewel you are, in your absence, a muse. When you are with me the two aspects of muse and lover are reconciled - then it is the jewel-images that fill both functions. Hence the distractions in some of my latest poems which I hope to exclude with an effort of will.
The schizophrenic difficulties are greater in your care and therefore my love I must stop talking about you-in-me and hope that you are able to be happy without minimizing my love. Ate least be assured of my love, my desire, and altogether extravagant adoration of you. Tell me you love me, my dearest love, as I love you.
WINNER - 65848060 - nosenabook
BlackheathWednesday
7 iX 1945
Dearest Sylvia
My muse, I love you so much, I adore you, while you are away,
in imagination, with thoughts based on the future and the past
which makes the present bearable or, rather illuminate the
dull summer with your dazzling presence. My pen has been
rather inhibited in the past few letters but my love for you and
desire for you to be here is unchanged. Undoubtedly my love
wars with resentment or melancholy but this letter will show the frequent outcome of such conflicts.
I wish I had a loving poem to send you, not the rather de-
tached ones I've been sending you which are both cerebral & slight:
I am working on a poem which is not yet complete and/but I shall send
it soon as a document of desire, a lecture on love.
My loving and involuntary memories of you are both delight-
ful, in their grace and beauty, and unsatisfactory because I desire
you here so much. But it is your beauty, as I say, not my com-
plaints that is in my mind today. Not your beauty in terms of time -
anticipation or retrospection - but simply as a wealth of exquisite
and magical imagery, or brilliant collection of jewels all of
which represent aspects of your appearance and identity.
Each image is informed with a wealth of associations so the
total idea of you has space as well as colour. The jewels are you
as my lover, ravishing and bright, while, in the associations at -
(two words) each jewel you are, in your absence, a muse. When you
are with me the two aspects of muse and lover are reconciled -
then it is the jewel-images that fill both functions. Hence the dis
tractions in some of my latest poems which I hope to exclude with
an effort of will.
The schizophrenic difficulties are greater in your case and there -
fore my love I must stop talking about you-in-me and hope that
you are able to be happy without minimizing my love. At least be
assured of my love, my desire, and altogether extravagant adora-
tion of you. Tell me you love me, my dearest love, as I love you.
66177337 - star-lightcox.net
Blackheath Wednesday 7 XV 1949Dearest Sylvia
My muse, I love you to much. I adore you, while you are away, in imagination, with thoughts based on the future and the past
which make the present bearable or, rather, illuminate the
dull summer with your dazzling presence. My pen has been
rather inhibited in the past few letters but my love for you and
desire for you to be here is unchanged. Undoubtedly my love
wars with resentment or melancholy but this letter will show
the frequent outcome of such conflicts.
I wish I had a loving poem to send to you, not the rather de-
tached ones I've been sending you which are both cerebral & slight:
I am working on a poem which is not yet complete but I shall send
it soon as a document of desire, a lecture on love.
My loving and involuntary memories of you are both delight-
ful, in their grace and beauty, and unsatisfactory because I desire
you here so much. But it is your beauty, as I say, not my com-
plaints that is in my mind today. Not your beauty in terms of time -
anticipation or retrospection - but simply as a wealth of exquisite
and magical imagery, a brilliant collection of jewels all of
which represent aspects of your appearance and identity.
Each image is informed with a wealth of associations so the
total idea of you has space as well as colour. The jewels are you
as my lover, ravishing and bright, while, in the association at -
taching to each jewel you are, in your absence, a muse. When you
are with me the two aspects of muse and lover are reconciled -
then it is the jewel-images that fill both functions. Hence the dis
tractions in some of my latest poems which I hope to exclude with
an effort of will.
The schizophrenic difficulties, are greater in your care and there-
fore my love I must stop talking about you-in-me and hope that
you are able to be happy without minimizing my love. At least be
assured of my love, my desire, and altogether extravagent adora-
tion of you. Tell me you love me, my dearest love, as I love you.
66236619 - fennas
Blackheath Wednesday 7 IX 1945Dearest Sylvia
My muse, I love you so much. I adore you, while you are away
in iwoginahin, with Uarghl bored on the future and the past
whies make the present bearable or, rather, illuminate the
dull summer with your dazzling presence. My pen has been
rather inhibited in the past few letters but my love for you and
desire for you to be here is unchanged. Undoubtedly my love
wars with resentment or melancholy but this letter will slow
the frequent outcome of such conflicts.
I wish I had a lovely poem to send you, not the rather de-
tached ones I've been sending you which are both cerebral & shyer.
I am working on a poem which is not yet complete but I shall send
it soon as a document of desire, a lecture on love.
My loving and involuntary memories of you are both delight-
ful in theri grace and beauty, and unsatisfactory because I desire
you here so much. But it is your beauty, as I say, not my com-
plaints that is in my mind today. Not your beauty in terms of time -
anticipation or retrospection - but simply as wealth of exqui
and magical imagery, a brilliant collection of jewels all of
which represent aspects of your appearance and identity.
Each image is informed with a wealth of associations so the
total idea of you has space as well as colour. The jewels are you
as my lover, ravishing and bright, while, in the association at-
taching to each jewel you are, in your absence, a muse. When you
are with me the two aspects of muse and lover are reconciled -
then it is the jewel-images that fill both functions. Hence the dis
tractions in some of my latest poems which I hope to exclude with
an effort of will.
The schizophrenic difficulties are greater in your care and there-
fore my love I must stop talking about you-in-me and hope that
you are able to be happy without minimizing my love. At least be
assure of my love, my desire, and altogether extravagant adora-
tion of you. Tell me you love me, my dearest love, as I love you.
66367074 - altheist
BlackheathWednesday
7 IX 1945
Dearest Sylvia,
My muse, I love you so much. I adore you, while you are away, in imagination, with thoughts bared on the future and the past which make the present bearable or, rather, illuminate the dull simmer with your dazzling presence. My pen had been rather inhibited in the past few letters but my love for you and desire for you to be here is unchanged. Undoubtedly my love was with resentment or melancholy but this letter will show the frequent outcome of such conflict.
I wish I had a loving poem to send you, no the rather detached ones I've been sending you which are both cerebral & slight. I am working on a poem which is not yet complete but I shall send it soon as a document of desire, a lecture on love.
My loving and involuntary memories of you are both delightful in their grace and beauty, and unsatisfactory because I desire you here so much. But it is your beauty, as I say, not my complaints that is in my mind today. Not your beauty in terms of time - anticipation or retrospection - but simply as a wealth of exquisite and magical imagery, a brilliant collection of jewels all of which represent aspects of your appearance and identity.
Each image is informed with a wealth of association so the total idea of you has space as well as colour. The jewels are you as my lover, ravishing and bright, in your absence, a muse. When you are with me the two aspects of muse and lover are reconciled - then it is the jewel - images that fill both functions. Hence the distraction in some of my latest poems which I hope to exclude with an effort of will.
The schizophrenic difficulties are greater in your care and there Jane my love I must stop talking about you-in-me and hope that you are able to be happy without minimizing my love. At least be amused of my love, my desire, and altogether extravagant adoration of you. Tell me you love me, my dearest love, as I love you.
66368928 - SailorVal
Blackheath Wednesday7 ix 1949
Dearest Sylvia
My muse, I love you so much. I adore you, while you are away,
in imagination, with thoughts based on the future and the past
which make the present bearable or, rather, illuminate the
dull summer with your dazzling presence. My pen has been
rather inhibited in the past few letters but my love for you and
desire for you to be here is unchanged. Undoubtedly my love
wars with resentment or melancholy but this letter will show
the frequent outcomes of such conflicts.
I wish I had a loving poem to send you, not the rather de-
tached ones I've been sending you which are both cerebral & slight:
I am working on a poem which is not yet complete but I shall send
it soon as a document of desire, a lecture on love.
My loving and involuntary memories of you are both delight-
ful in their grace and beauty, and unsatisfactory because I desire
you here so much. But it is your beauty, as I say, not my com-
plaints that is in my mind today. Not your beauty in terms of time -
anticipation or retrospection - but simply as a wealth of exquisite
and magical imagery, a brilliant collection of jewels, all of
which represent aspects of your appearance and identity.
Each image is informed with a wealth of associations so the
total idea of you has space as well as colour. The jewels are you
as my lover, sparkling and bright, while, in the associations at-
tatching to each jewel you are, in your absence, a muse. When you
are with me the two aspects of muse and lover are reconciled -
then it is the jewel-images that fill both functions. Hence the dis-
tractions in some of my latest poems which I hope to exclude with an effort of will.
The schizophrenic difficulties are greater in your case and there-
fore my love I must stop talking about you-in-me and hope that
you are able to be happy without minimising my love. At least be
assured of my love, my desire, and altogether extravagant adora-
tion of you. Tell me you love me, my dearest love, as I love you.