Literary Discussion (With a side of Liquor)
"Certainly not the same woman but he has written so many love poems, or âadorationâ poems as he calls them," RĂșmil smiled and resettled himself in the chair, taking the glass of liquor. He swirled it around the glass and sipped a little, âtheyâre one of the reasons I love reading his poetry. Much of his writing is simply so gratuitously happy.â
Heâd have to be careful, what with the wine at lunch.
He looked at the book and tried to wind himself back to the time it had been written, humming under his breath as he savoured the drink, âit might be one to one of his former students,â he said at last, âhe wrote a couple to those. Of either sex.â
He chuckled, âthereâs even one to me in there somewhere. He used to write poems to people all of the time.â
Parmion gnawed at his lower lip for a moment, rolling the words about on his tongue as if tasting the liquor still. âMmm, yes, gratuitously happy. A perfect way to describe it, quite apt! And yet beneath that almost aggressively blatant happiness, there is a sort of longing lurking, it has always seemed to me.â
He leaned back, crossing his long legs in a loose half-sprawl and regarding RĂșmil with a little smile. âAdoration poems, mm? But adoration is not quite love!â He shook his head sharply, thin locks of silver hair falling across his forehead with the motion. âAdoration implies a certain distance between the writer and his subject, and the poems seem to confirm it. He longs for them, longs for a deeper connection, but never quite finds it. He boasts of his happiness, while there is a hollowness beneath.â
The librarian laughed suddenly, a ringing sound, and made a self-deprecating sort of gesture. âI believe I am represented in this volume also,â he confessed, then declaimed quite dramatically, with a wave of one long arm, âBut from thine eyes my knowledge I derive/ And, constant stars, in them I read such art/ As truth and beauty shall together thriveâŠ.!â
 "He has always preferred that," RĂșmil shrugged his shoulder, "he prefers a distance, some sort of obstacle that cannot be overcome easily. He says it is more inspiring than the relationship already consummated save in special circumstances. I suppose you could say he's ... hmm... masochistic in a certain manner? Thank goodness his niece isn't like that."
If Elemmire Snr had passed on his tendency for self-flagellation in his work to Elemmire Jnr, RĂșmil might have ridden to Taniquetil personally to box both their ears. Thankfully Elemmire Jnr preferred consummation over longing.
Even in half her work wound up in the age restricted section of libraries or wound up heavily censored by various collectors.
He ran a finger down a straying piece of his own silver hair and found a blue ink stain in it, sighing to himself in dismay. He really needed to secure his hair better when writing. He was sure he was going to find a corresponding blue stain on his collar given where the hair had been straggling. He untied his hair ribbon so he could recollect all his hair together at the nape of his neck. Of course a few strands promptly escaped and so he gave up on a lost cause.
Parmion's recitation rolled over him and his lips curled back into a careful smile again. That was so like Elemmire. So ridiculously like Elemmire. He could see his old friend observing Parmion, admiring Parmion, then sitting down and luxuriating in the memory of all of his encounters with Parmion until the words simply rolled off the glass quill that the Vanyar preferred.
"Oh my," he teased, lazily fanning himself with his free hand "I think I'm scandalised Parmion. What passion. What overwhelming longing. I don't know if I can meet your art filled eyes at the moment."
