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Edna St. Vincent Millay, Fatal Interview: from 'Now by this moon, before this moon shall wane...'
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Another thing I made on May 1st: my own copy of Edna St. Vincent Millayâs Fatal Interview. See, Iâm working on a new project, which is, much like Fatal Interview, a sonnet sequence inspired by a love affair. I decided I needed a copy of the book to have near me while I work on it. I looked for used copies online; found some that werenât too expensive but were still a greater expense than I can justify right now. Then I thought Iâd just have to content myself with the .pdf, which, ugh. Then I remembered that Iâve got some amateur book-binding skills, so I printed out the book and made my own cover for it and stitched it all together with twine, and honestly this makes it even more special than if Iâd purchased a copy.
(May 1, 2023)
from fatal interview, c. 1931 // Edna St. Vincent Millay
This love, this longing, this oblivious thing,
Edna St. Vincent Millay, from Sonnet LXXII (âThis beast that rends meâ); Fatal Interview: Sonnets, 1931
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink And rise and sink and rise and sink again; Love can not fil the thickened lung with breath, Nor clean the blood, nor set the fracture bone; Yet many a man is making friends with death Even as I speak, for lack of love alone. It well may be that in a difficult hour, Pinned down by pain and moaning for release, Or nagged by want past resolution's power I might be driven to sell your love for peace, Or trade the memory of this night for food. It may well be. I do not think I would.
    âEdna St. Vincent Millay, sonnet XXX in Fatal Interview (1931)
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I dreamed I moved among the Elysian fields, In converse with sweet women long since dead; And out of blossoms which that meadow yields I wove a garland for your living head.
Sonnet XVI in Fatal Interview, by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Night is my sister,
Edna St. Vincent Millay, Fatal Interview: from 'Night is my sister, and how deep in love...'
She loves you not; she never heard of love.Â
Edna St. Vincent Millay, Fatal Interview; from âThink not, nor for a moment let your mindâ
