Poem for Friday

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.


Richard Cory
By Paul Simon

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 rumors 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...

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2/3 of this post is here now because when I woke up I realized it should be friends-locked. This is the poetry and photo section. *g* I had a relatively peaceful pre-Thanksgiving meal; sister called in the morning to ask whether younger son wanted to go with her family to see Happy Feet, which sister and her husband hated and let younger son know in no uncertain terms, though their daughters liked it (younger son is quite disgusted with them, which amuses me though given that they are his aunt and uncle, I am not sure I should be so gleeful).

While he was out, my in-laws arrived and we spent a lovely afternoon discussing the election, A Prairie Home Companion of which they are big fans, their west coast grandchildren, the penguins my mother-in-law is knitting for the Oregon grandkids now that she has knitted penguins for younger son, for me (delivered today, whoo!) and the L.A. grandkids, the football playoffs, The Da Vinci Code, geneaology, the Mayflower and Cirque du Soleil (we have the Beatles' Love, whoo! again, and I have the new Loreena McKennitt CD courtesy a friend to whom I offer big *hugs*). A good day, in other words, all in all, which nevertheless left a weird taste in my mouth that seems to have overridden even my gratitude for German chocolate cake and sweet potato pie. My big Thanksgiving list has not changed substantially since 2004, and is here, though this year I am also very grateful that a majority of Americans voted the way they did.


Chocolate chip cookie cake made by (last year's is here).


The SpongeBob pinata my mother got for the kids. You pull the strings on the bottom instead of hitting it, and when the right string is yanked, his butt falls open and candy falls out. This seems a bit perverse to me but what do I know. *g*


The cats, however, had a rather difficult Thanksgiving.


First there were two cats, but only one box. As always, Rosie eventually won this staring contest, but never got in to the box on this occasion -- it was a matter of principle.


Then Cinnamon discovered -- as she does periodically -- that there was a pesky tail chasing her.


No amount of pursuit on either level of the scratching post resolved this issue, though she was eventually distracted by a string with a bell on the end.

(who is someone to whom I owe squee, not to mention comments) informed me that Best Buy has the fourth season of Smallville on sale Friday for $14.99! And they also have the March of the Penguins Game Boy game with a free stuffed penguin, which younger son does not even know exists so far as I know and would therefore make an ideal Chanukah present. But obtaining these means braving a store on the day after Thanksgiving. Is this madness even worth considering?