Joris Iven





Never had I expected my grave to be in

Linlithgow, Scotland. I have not perished in my money,

but in my blood. Marguerite, my earthly body

remains here, though I send you my heart. I cannot

be closer to you than in the church I built

for us. My God, how hard it is to part from

flax and linen. When I am laid out, swathe me then

in a winding sheet of at least fifty yards. Cover me

with sheets of white and grey and black. Divide what I had

when I am in my coffin. Give everything to Franciscans,

Carmelites, Augustines, Dominicans. May they pray

for me, for otherwise my soul will not find rest.

Marguerite, I have lived in vain. May God forgive

me that I my sole concern was with was temporal.

I have wasted my time in taverns. Deck tables

with a hundred portions of meat and drink. Divide them

amongst women, prisoners, the insane and the poor.

May they also pray for me. My soul will have rest.

Marguerite, I give away all I am able. We have

amassed too much. Even when we mated, we thought

in terms of gain. May God have mercy on us.

I am so far from you. I have, my love, not even kissed you.



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