(since reality exists it should be must be dealt should be met and dealt with) It’s very probable that being sincere is stupid. In her 1955-1956 Italian diary engraved in green, she writes:Īnd trying to be as simple or direct as (possible) I’d like Not being ashamed of my feeling, thoughts - or ideas Writing in her famous Record notebook in 1955, she echoes Kerouac’s famous line, “No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge”: The space / the air is between us beckoningīeyond her poems, the rest of Monroe’s intimate thoughts collected in Fragments are equally soul-stirring. I particularly like in particular all bridges - there’s some. Wind - I exist more with the cold glistening frost.īecause But I love that bridge (everything is beautiful from there and the air is so clean) walking it seems We can only share the part that is understood by within another’s knowing acceptable toĮvidently in nature - at best though perhaps it could make One’s own truth is just that really - one’s own truth. What these texts bespeak, above all, is the tragic disconnect between a highly visible public persona and a highly vulnerable private person, misunderstood by the world, longing to be truly seen. And yet, the public image of a breezy, bubbly blonde endures as a caricature of Monroe’s character, standing in stark contrast with whatever deep-seated demons led her to take her own life.īut her private poetry - fragmentary, poem-like texts scribbled in notebooks and on loose-leaf paper, published for the first time in Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters ( public library) - reveals a complex, sensitive being who peered deeply into her own psyche and thought intensely about the world and other people. While she wasn’t shooting, she was taking literature and history night classes at UCLA. Her personal library contained four hundred books, including classics like Dostoyevsky and Milton, and modern staples like Hemingway and Kerouac. She took great pains to be photographed reading or holding a book - insistence born not out of vain affectation but of a genuine love of literature. Did you ever begin Ulysses? Did you ever finish it? Marilyn Monroe (June 1, 1926–August 5, 1962) did both.
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