The Legend of Love

The Reviews

By  S. H. Pearson

    This critique was course-work that I submitted for graded credit in a required class.  This poem is a little-known gem in my opinion.  I post my digestion for your reading pleasure.  Keep in mind that I was courting academic credit.

     Mary Tighe dazzles with her Psyche (or The Legend of Love).  The first sign of a good writer is how fast a piece reads.  This read fast.  I devoured it.  Tighe is as rich as Keats in her literary canvas.  The color and texture smote me.  I see the pinioned god’s blonde ringlets and am drawn into her obsession as I was by Keats over Psyche.  The same fever drove each pen — one for women and one for men.

     In Tighe’s poem we get female focus of this grand old myth.  Instead of erecting a fane to Psyche, Tighe’s is to Eros.  ‘Fittingly so.

     Though Tighe may have attempted to tell the tale, her obsession is clear to me.  Eros.  She sees him vividly — down to the glint of light from under his fringe of lashes (as though his eyes were gleaming orbs).  Like a fan of spooky beams that shoot out at you the glamour of his business.  The sorcery of his seduction – Cupid’s arrows.  Wham.  Then he’s got you in his thrall.  Just one look and that is all.  Love at first sight they call it – this phenomenon. 

     Tighe’s poem is a good one.  It pleasured me greatly.  What better theme than this????  A woman gets a husband who sees her only nightly in the dark – in a blissful nuptial chamber.  The god of blissful infatuation with wings.  I say wings.

     Here’s another one that our film industry should endeavor.  Only problem is that I don’t think there’s a man on earth who could embody Tighe’s beau ideal.  He is not of this world. 


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