Poets.org sent a poem-a-day a couple of weeks ago and of this poem I can neither recall title nor author. But as I was reading it, I noticed a reference to John Keats and I felt brilliant. Like being in on an inside joke sort of thing.  I could identify the allusion only because I had been reading Keats bio just the day before. Otherwise I would not have been able to identify it as such. A similar thing happened when I found myself looking through the second volume of an anthology on world literature that I bought for a college class some years back——I have found my anthologies from college very useful for my graduate studies. Carelessly flipping through the book, I came across Marie de France and I felt this funny emotion, not unlike running into a friend in a place full of strangers. I know Marie because I was so excited about going back to school that I bought my books ahead of time. Unfortunately when class started her Lais was no longer on the list of required books. But no matter, I had read the translated works on courtly love and seeing her again in my old book felt like something to dance about. She led me to some answers on the question of love in medieval literature. Quite helpful to my recent class. And for my own personal thoughts. I have being wondering a lot what love is and I feel I have been given a helping hand by someone whose name is still uncertain and who lived so long ago——the late 12th century. It made  me feel very strongly what we already know, how fascinating books are. It is like time traveling and borrowing the lives and minds of others without ever leaving home.

—
Jane Odartey
P. S. It’s a beautiful rainy day here. I am in heaven.