Elizabeth Bishop
... her last volume of verse in 1976 to Alice Methfessel, a young university administrator who shared the last years of her life. . When Elizabeth was in Brazil she fell in love, with a woman named Lota de Macedo Soares. In 1967, Lota Soares had a mental breakdown and committed suicide. After this, Elizabeth moved back to the United States. Elizabeth Bishop put all of her heart into her work. She spent years on a single poem. For her entire life she suffered from asthma, but also had alcoholic binges and used many anti-depressant drugs. She was hospitalised oftenly in her fight against alcoholism. She died of a celebral aneurysm in 1979. She was influenced by the poet Marianne Moore who was a close friend of hers, as well as a mentor. She wrote about her own life experiences and about all the places she had travelled to. Even though Elizabeth was a a wonderful person and had quite a few friends, she considered herself the 'loneliest person in the world.' Visits to St. Elizabeths Elizabeth Bishop <../poets/poets.cfm?prmID=7> [1950] This is the house of Bedlam. This is the man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is the time of the tragic man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is a wristwatch telling the time of the talkative man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is a sailor wearing the watch that tells the time of the honored man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is the roadstead all of board reached by the sailor wearing the watch that tells the time of the old, brave man that lies in the house of Bedlam. These are the years and the walls of the ward, the winds and clouds of the sea of board sailed by the sailor wearing the watch that tells the time of the cranky man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is a Jew in a newspaper hat that dances weeping down the ward over the creaking sea of board beyond the sailor winding his watch that tells the time of the cruel man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is a world of books gone flat. This is a Jew in a newspaper hat that dances weeping down the ward over the creaking sea of board of the batty sailor that winds his watch that tells the time ...