Neurotic Owl

flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread

Oops. I forgot to scan drawings last night.

So you get nothing.  Nothing!  NOTHING!

I’ll aim to post when I get home from work, but I may get too busy on the show I’m designing and run out of brain.  There will definitely be cartoons tomorrow if not tonight.

Want another poem?

Richard Cory, by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
‘Good-morning,’ and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich – yes, richer than a king –
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Of course, the richard Cory you may be more familiar with is in the Simon and Garfunkel song, based on Arlington’s poem:

They say that Richard Cory owns one half of this whole town,
With political connections to spread his wealth around.
Born into society, a banker’s only child,
He had everything a man could want: power, grace, and style.

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I’m living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.

The papers print his picture almost everywhere he goes:
Richard Cory at the opera, Richard Cory at a show.
And the rumor of his parties and the orgies on his yacht!
Oh, he surely must be happy with everything he’s got.

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I’m living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.

He freely gave to charity, he had the common touch,
And they were grateful for his patronage and thanked him very much,
So my mind was filled with wonder when the evening headlines read:
“Richard Cory went home last night and put a bullet through his head.”

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I’m living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.

So the thing I find most interesting about these two bits of depressing is that last repetition of the chorus in the song.  Arlington’s poem is beautifully written, and Paul Simon (you know he wrote the lyrics.  Sorry, Garfunkel.) did a lovely job interpreting it into music, but I feel like that last chorus adds a little dark twist — the idea that, even if Richard Cory was that unhappy, even if he’s dead, the narrator would still rather be him.  I think this popped into my head around the time I was paging through the – god help me — Kardashian Kollection for Sears yesterday.  (Shut up, it’s for a show I’m designing.  A tacky, tacky show.)  I imagine you could actually find a horrifying number of people who’d rather be rich/famous even if they knew, KNEW, they’d be unhappy.  Eugh.

Mind you, if I had the option of being rich AND happy, I would be down with that.  Giant book shopping spree, go!

 

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This entry was posted on September 3, 2013 by and tagged , , , , .
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