Life Lines

A Shared Reading activity pack

to read wherever you are
Issue 80

For more Shared Reading, poems and texts,

email us at: coronavirus@thereader.org.uk
.
 'He tried to tell her something of this when the hour of
parting came. But he could only say that he loved her; nothing
else that he wanted to say seemed to mean so much as this'

'Two Summers and Two Souls', Kate Chopin

The Reader is a charity which usually brings people together to listen

to stories, extracts and poems in free, weekly Shared Reading
groups. In these Life Lines activity packs we hope to offer everyone
the same comfort, meaning and connection through great literature
that our reading groups provide – wherever it finds you.
Each Life Lines pack will bring you some of a story and a poem,
which you can read in your own time. Along with the reading, you’ll
find a selection of thoughts and feelings shared by other fellow
readers about the chosen pieces. We suggest that reading the poem
or the story out loud is a great way to fully immerse yourself in the
reading experience and discover your own personal connections with
the material. It may feel strange but it does make a difference, so do
please give it a try!

This week’s story is 'Two Summers and Two Souls' by

Kate Chopin. Taking place in three parts over two summers,
this story gives us a look into the minds of two people as they
struggle to determine how they feel for one another. Not a lot
happens in this story, but what I love is that it gives us a
glimpse into the layers of feelingswe each hold within ourselves
and the questions we ask ourselves like, what roles do time and
distance play in our relationships with one another?

As you read feel free to make notes on your own thoughts

and feelings as you go, perhaps marking words or
sentences that particularly stand out to you...

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 Two Summers and Two Souls
By Kate Chopin

He was fine, honest-looking fellow; young, impetuous, candid;

and he was bidding her good-bye.
It was in the country, where she lived, and where her soul and
senses were slowly unfolding, like the languid petals of some white and
fragrant blossom.
Five weeks—only five weeks he had known her. They seemed
to him a flash, an eternity, a rapturous breath, an existence—a re-
creation of light and life, and soul and senses. He tried to tell her
something of this when the hour of parting came. But he could only
say that he loved her; nothing else that he wanted to say seemed to
mean so much as this. She was glad, and doubtful, and afraid, and
kept reiterating:
“Only five weeks! so short! and love and life are so long.”
“Then you don’t love me!”
“I don’t know. I want to be with you—near you.”
“Then you do love me!”
“I don’t know. I thought love meant something different—
powerful, overwhelming. No. I’m afraid to say.”
He talked like a mad man then, and troubled and bewildered her
with his incoherence. He begged for love as a mendicant might beg for
alms, without reserve and without shame, and the passion within him
gave an unnatural ring to his voice and a new, strange look to his eyes
that chilled her unawakened senses and sent her shivering within
herself.
“No, no, no!” was all she could say to him.
He willed not to believe it; he had felt so sure of her. And she
was not one to play fast and loose, with those honest eyes whose
depths had convinced while they ensnared him.
“Don’t send me away like this,” he pleaded, “without a crumb of
hope to feed on and keep me living.”
She dismissed him with a promise that it might not be
final. “Who knows! I will think; but leave me alone. Don’t trouble me;
and I will see—Good-bye.”

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 He did not once look back after leaving her, but walked straight on with
a step that was quick and firm from habit. But he was almost blind and
senseless from pain.
She stayed watching him cross the lawn and the long stretch
of meadow beyond. She watched him till the deepening shadows of
the coming night crept between them. She stayed troubled,
uncertain; tearful because she did not know!

Pause for Thought...

Well, what do we make of these two at the moment they are bidding
goodbye? I wonder about these five weeks they have known one
another, what do you think their relationship was like during that time?
How have they ended up here in this moment of differing amounts of
affection? I'm not sure about you, but I was quite taken with the man's
attempt to tell her of his strong feeling: 'a re-creation of light and life,
and soul and senses' and especially that next line 'He tried to tell
her something of this. . .But he could only say that he loved her;
nothing else that he wanted to say seemed to mean so much as
this.' I think it was in those words 'something' and 'seemed' that I
really felt the young man's struggle and attempt to express his
feelings. What are your first impressions of him in this moment? I
wonder if this attempt to express strong feelings is something we can
resonate with in any way?

And what about other half of this relationship, what are our first
thoughts about what the woman is feeling and the uncertainty she is
experiencing here? I wonder if we can resonate with feeling 'glad,
and doubtful, and afraid' all mixed together? I feel for her in the way
uncertainty is troubling her mind and decision, but I also admire that
she stands firm in her uncertainty. It can sometimes be hard to stand
up for your own need for space and time. I wonder if this has
anything to do with her time in the country 'where her soul and
senses were slowly unfolding' what has she been learning about
herself over this time living in the country? Is this maybe a moment
of standing up for herself in a new way?

Let's read part two to see what happens next for this maybe romance .
..
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 II

“I remember quite well the words I told you a year ago when we parted,”
she wrote to him. “I told you I did not know, I wanted to think, I even
wanted to pray, but I believe I did not tell you that. And now, will you
believe me when I say that I have not been able to think—hardly to pray. I
have only been able to feel. When you went away that day you seemed to
leave me in an empty world. I kept saying to myself, ‘to-morrow or next
day it will be different; it will be with me as it was before he came.’ Then
your letters coming—three of them, one upon the other—gave voice to the
empty places. You were everywhere after that. And still I doubted, and I
was cautious; for it has seemed to me that the love which is to hold two
beings together through life must be love indeed.
“but what is the use of saying more than that I love you. I would not
care to live without you; I think I could not. Come back to me.”

Pause for Thought...

Well this is quite the change of heart! I wonder what we make of writing
to him now after a year of being apart. What was that year like for him
waiting to hear from her? And how about for her, I wonder what we make
of this distinction: 'I have not been able to think—hardly to pray. I
have only been able to feel' --is that space of only being able to feel
something that is familiar? I wonder what does it feel like to have such a
strong feeling take over other abilities, to continually say to yourself 'to-
morrow or the next day it will be different'? I imagine it feels a bit like
being caught in a maze of your own mind. Has she found her way out of
that maze by admitting her love? And what do we think—will the man
come back to her after a year of waiting?

Let's read on to find out . . .

III

When this letter reached him he was in preparation for a journey with
a party of friends. It came with a batch of business letters, and in
the midst of the city’s rush and din which he had meant in another day
to leave behind him.
He was all unprepared for its coming and unable at once to master
the shock of it, that bewildered and unnerved him.

5
 Then came back to him the recollection of pain—
a remembrance always faint and unreal; but there was complete
inability to revive the conditions that had engendered it.
How he had loved her and how he had suffered! Especially
during those first few days, and even months, when he slept and
waked dreaming of her; when his letters remained unanswered, and
when existence was but a name for bitter endurance.
How long had it lasted? Could he tell? The end began when he
could wake in the morning without the oppression, and free from the
haunting pain. The end was that day, the hour or second, when he
thought of her without emotion and without regret; as he thought of her
now, with unstirred pulses. There was even with him now the touch of
something keener than indifference—something engendered by
revolt.
It was as if one loved, and dead and forgotten had returned to
life; with the strange illusion that the rush of existence had halted while
she lay in her grave; and with the still more singular delusion that love
is eternal.
He did not hesitate as though confronted by a problem. He did
not think of leaving the letter unnoticed. He did not think of telling her
the truth. If he thought of these expedients, it was only to dismiss
them.
He simply went to her. As he would have gone unflinchingly to
meet the business obligation that he knew would leave him bankrupt.

Pause for Final Thought...

I wonder how we feel about his decision to return to her? What do we

think their relationship will be like moving forward? And what
difference will this year of waiting make? I was particularly struck
where it
said: 'It was as if one loved, and dead and forgotten had
returned to life; with the strange illusion that the rush of
existence had halted whileshe lay in her grave; and with the
still more singular delusion that love is eternal.' I wonder what
we make of this mix of feelings, is it that he is both repulsed and
excited by the idea of returning to her? And what about this idea that
love is eternal? I wonder if that is something that resonates across
different experiences with love and relationships—and what love
means to us as individuals in general?

This story ends here, but I can't help but wonder, what will their 6
relationship look like in another year from now?
 Time for a poem ….

We’ll pick up with anotther story again in our next issue, but now a
pause for some poetry. Poetry isn’t always easy for everyone to get
going with. In our Shared Reading groups we read a poem out loud
a few times, to give ourselves a bit of time to hear it aloud. Give this
a go yourself and see if it helps you to feel comfortable with the
words, even if you’re still not sure what it’s all about!

We aren’t looking to find an answer here, or what the person writing

it might have meant when they wrote it. We’re just looking to see if
any feelings or ideas come up when we read it – and often we find
that the more time you allow yourself to simply be with the poem,
the more thoughts and feelings will come through.

One of the keys is to enjoy yourself: take your time, read it out loud,
have a think about any bits you like, or that puzzle you, then… have
another read!

This week's Featured Poem is 'Early Affection' by George

Moses Horton. in this poem we are given another space to
think about the affection we hold for others through time
and how it changes. I wonder if, as you read the poem,
anyone from your own life and experience comes to mind?
What are the differing ways that we show affection to those
in our lives?

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Early Affection
By George Moses Horton

I lov’d thee from the earliest dawn,

When first I saw thy beauty’s ray,
And will, until life’s eve comes on,
And beauty’s blossom fades away;
And when all things go well with thee,
With smiles and tears remember me.

I’ll love thee when thy morn is past,

And wheedling gallantry is o’er,
When youth is lost in age’s blast,
And beauty can ascend no more,
And when life’s journey ends with thee,
O, then look back and think of me.

I’ll love thee with a smile or frown,

’Mid sorrow’s gloom or pleasure’s light,
And when the chain of life runs down,
Pursue thy last eternal flight,
When thou hast spread thy wing to flee,
Still, still, a moment wait for me.

I’ll love thee for those sparkling eyes,

To which my fondness was betray’d,
Bearing the tincture of the skies,
To glow when other beauties fade,
And when they sink too low to see,
Reflect an azure beam on me.

Pause for Thought...

I wonder what stood out as you read through the poem? What do we make
of this repetition of love expressed throughout a lifetime? Does that feel
true in our own experiences? I'm remembering back to the man and woman
from the story and I wonder where their own journey with love sits in this
poem— are they in love's 'Beauty's blossom', or maybe the moment when
'wheedling gallantry is o'er'?

Something I like about this poem is that it encourages spaces of reflection

and remembering. I think sometimes life passes so quickly we forget to
appreciate it as it passes. I wonder, is there something in this poem
asking8 us to pause and reflect on the relationships in our own lives?
We’ve left this page blank for you to make notes, draw a picture, have
a go at writing yourself or jot down something you’d like to tell us…