Oh, Edna.
Posted by David on Thursday, August 30, 2001 at 4:16 PM.
Good article in the New York Times today about one of my favorite poets, Edna St. Vincent Millay. Apparently there are a couple of biographies about to come out (why do these always seem to come out together?).
Hers was the story you already expect: Torrid love affairs with both sexes, alcohol and drug abuse, fading beauty and eventual accidental death.
The last two paragraphs of the article killed me, though:
In 1950 she fell from the top of the stairs at Steepletop, and died. Ms. Milford writes that when Millay was found, her head was resting on a page of her notebook that contained the penciled draft of one last poem. The final three lines had a ring drawn around them:I will control myself, or go inside.
I will not flaw perfection with my grief.
Handsome, this day: no matter who has died.
Check out her work. It's great stuff.