fruity rum punch

if you have ever done anything stupid while under the influence, you understand the power of a fruity rum punch. the following excerpt (oh look, another cop out post) is from Jen Lancaster's memoir/novel "Bitter is the New Black: Confessions of a condescending, egomaniacal, self-centered smart-ass, or why you should never carry a Prada gag to the unemployment office." not my usual type of book, but oh so hilarious and fitting (can't you tell?). of course i'm not done with this book but i have to share some hilarity because it's rare that a book makes me crack up when i'm just, you know, alone. reading. 



none of this is spoiler-y, but to set it up a bit, jen caught her coworker courtney (who is engaged to brad) fooling around with another coworker, chad, on their company cruise. this person she dubbed 'the chadifornicator.' jen just confronted courtney about the tryst and her engagement, which courtney sobbingly explained she didn't particularly want to enter into but the scene was too romantical to say no (to the engagement; she clearly enjoyed the chadifornication). enjoy.

Her eyes get watery and she begins to sniffle. I root around in my bag to find her a Kleenex. Ooh, look, I have gum!

I remember something. 'Wait, weren't you drinking mai tais with Chad at the sales conference when you hooked up?'

Courtney blows her nose while nodding yes.

'Essentially, you allowed a fruity rum punch to alter the course of your life TWICE? Oh, my God, you're such a WHORE!' This brings a fresh spate of tears. I know I should be more compassionate, but when you sleep around while wearing someone else's ring, I have trouble mustering sympathetic noises.

'Court... Court... COURTNEY! Listen to me. You have to be honest with Brad. Not later. Now. You cannot string him along anymore. It's just not right.' Courtney begins to cry huge racking sobs.

'People are looking at us. Can you please make them stop?' she begs.

'What do you expect? Acting like a whore attracts attention. They probably think you're here to go on Jerry Springer.'

'WAH!'

'Ok, Ok, I'm on it.' I look around. Although everyone from the Atlanta flight has collected their luggage, they've yet to leave. A sweaty fat man with an orange flowered vinyl bag has moved next to us to hear better. I whirl around to face him. 'Yo, Marlon Brando, yeah, with the ugly carry-on, move along. Also? Burn that bag when you get home.' I see an older woman with stop sign red hair pretending to tie her shoes. Perhaps if they weren't LOAFERS her ruse would be more credible. 'And you, Red? Aren't you old enough to know better? FYI, a six-dollar box of hair color is NOT a bargain. Get going. And the rest of you?' I sweep the crowd with an accusatory finger. 'Seriously, piss off. This does not concern you.' I stomp a pony-skinned mule and make shooing motions.

We attract the attention of airport security. An officer cautiously moves toward us and I see him pat his waist in the direction of his side arm. 'Oh, keep your polyester pants on, Rent-a-Cop,' I say, waving dismissively in his direction. 'Everything is fine. The situation is handled. My friend here is simply dealing with the ramifications of being a whore.'

HIGH-larious, i tell you. and a few paragraphs later, when jen's boyfriend picks them up, for your amusement:

'What happened to Courtney?' Fletch asks.

I sigh. 'Mai tais.'

it was the best of times, it was the worst of times

there's a line in a halou song that says something about being nostalgic while you're still living it. great lyrics. i've certainly had moments that are awesome and then suddenly upsetting because you realize it will soon be not-so-awesome. but aside from in-the-moment nostalgia...  nothing makes a person feel more old and tired than the sweet pain of regular-old nostalgia. even when you know 'it' wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, you still yearn to have that spot, that ambiance of your life, back. and then you feel like a dweeb, because seriously, who yearns. now i'm sure you're wondering what reminded me of whatever i'm missing? fooled you! i miss all kinds of things, but nothing in particular at this moment. what got me thinking on nostalgia itself was a perfect sentence in The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which is quickly becoming my soul mate. 


i regret that i haven't read it before, or perhaps i thought i had, but i most certainly have not, because among all the brilliance and YES moments i've had with this novel (i'm barely 50 pages in, for crying out loud), this line hit me like it was cut with cocaine:

In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine.

good thing i was in the tub, because i had to let that one sink in. and it of course got me thinking on the tiny amount of life i've experienced, and tiny bits of stuff i know, and the insignificant, perfect moments i've had. these things shouldn't make me sad. and then i remembered a great article i read a while back that made me smile at nostalgia. it's called Do Happy: Be Your Nostalgia, by Lori Deschene. i highly recommend it. she speaks about how it's easier to live in the past than the present. what was and what could be are easier because they aren't. it goes back to the idea that between where you are and where you want to be there is a sh*t ton of work. 


but she speaks about how we shouldn't dwell because there is so much out there to be experienced, why would we bother wasting the time we have on things we've already done and places we've already been? while this is uplifting and enlightened, i still teary (like crying, not ripping) thinking on my past. 


ginsberg saw the best minds of his generation destroyed by madness. i just want to see the best minds of my generation. and allen ginsberg's generation. oh man, that would be one crazy party.

i made you a mix tape

a mix tape (debatable, possibly 'mixtape,' but i'm sticking with two words because it makes more sense to me that way so shoosh) is a story. even if you don't mean it that way. even if the songs don't tell a story. making someone a mix tape used to be not-so-subtle-but-you-thought-it-was-subtle way to say

i have a ginormous crush on you and if you like this music then we're getting married and having a billion babies but if you dont like it then i dont like you at all anymore.

well, i suppose it still means that sometimes. but it's also not a tape anymore; it's a cd or a playlist handed to you via thumb drive or wiki or itunes magic, taking just a bit of the labor out of the labor of love that used to involve sitting in front of your boombox, listening to the radio with your finger hovering above the 'record' button on the tape deck. but i have my bloggin socks on so get ready for some way more interesting, deep perspectives on the art of the "mix," not having to do with technology or kids these days *shakes fist.*

take heed early on, i will be referencing and quoting high fidelity, because it's an easy source and you all know it and it is awesome and makes some great points about the art and purpose of mixes, and also makes me look slightly less elitist in the music realm, but this scene in particular has lots of naughty words in it so here's a link instead to watch on your own time. oh, and it's based on a book, but i'm quoting the movie. yay!

now i shall preach about a number of things. today's number is the number THREE (3) !!

1. music and mood

did i listen to pop music because i was miserable, or was i miserable because i listened to pop music?

2. circumstances and situations

it's a delicate thing; you're using someone else's poetry to express how you feel.

3. mix as narrative

how did i manage to edit all this out? 

i must also point out that two of my favorite mixes were shared with me by the great laceface [(mix: spring hooray) - it must also be noted that lacey is a mix master - she has even made epic mixes of her favorite artists; my favorite of which was her ani difranco mix, in three volumes.] and the great kyle "creatureparade" [mix: sad bastard music (yes, named after the scene i linked to previously, AND it was an actual cassette tape)]. on to your musical education!

1. music and mood

it's not new information that music affects your mood and that your mood affects the music you listen to. this can be a dangerous game. for instance, kyle once pointed out that the worst thing you can do when you are sad (particularly the broken heart type of sad) is listen to the cure. which seems counterintuitive, doesn't it. but seriously, don't do it, you'll kill yourself.

when it comes to creating a work-of-art mix tape, a lot of the story you're telling belongs to the mood invoked by each song and the songs surrounding it - the track flow must NOT be ignored. and jeez oh man can you have a ball with that. with great power comes great responsibility and all that. to wit: i created a mix a few years ago called medicine head, and while it starts funny and upbeat, it doesn't take long to gently swing you down into a comfortable lull where you can space out and feel just a little sad-numb.. a sample from that point in the mix:

but then it brings you back up again, but not too much, because it can't be jarring, you see. 

compare that with 'fast food' and 'survival guide,' my two ultimate masterpieces. both are pretty much sunny day driving music. but they still play with your mood. it's a freakin blast, i tell you! take this sample from survival guide, balkan beat box's digital monkey:

basically, i spend hours making awesome mixes of stuff i like in a way that tells a story and plays with your mind to make you think and listen and leaves you happy at the end. i do not make mix tapes of things i think a particular other person will like, generally speaking. but i do love to share the mixes i create with people i know will enjoy them. which brings me to point numero dos.

2. circumstances and situations

i did mention the classic move of "making someone a mix," so i can start there. the moment someone says to you

i made you a mix tape

is a moment where you will inevitably feel one of two ways that can be expressed by the term "omg": either you'll be squealy n giggly n flattered n excited n trying to hold yourself back from looking too eager by asking them to listen to it WITH you, or you'll be in stunned shock because you have no interest in this person or their freaky interpretation of what 'good' music is, plus you know they'll be bugging you for days asking if you liked it and what your favorite song was and asking you to shows n things. (img from explodingdog.com)


which is why i'm so happy to say that i grew out of that at some point. there are other, more comfortable times that call for mix tapes. what kind of music a person likes says a lot about them. can you say something to talk about?! to quote a song on 'medicine head,'

it's not interesting to have false conversations.

i hate having nothing to say and having to say stuff that doesn't matter. isn't it more fun to talk about something interesting to talk about, that makes both/all parties think about their taste in music and their interpretation of lyrics or whatever, who cares. even if it's just a matter of 'holy crap, i hate this song, i cant believe you're making me listen to it' - now you get to figure out why! and pick on them! yay for learning new things about friends! this is my favorite circumstance - especially if i know the person i'm forcing my mix on has the same taste in music as i do, or at least close enough that i don't feel like i'm being really mean.


then of course there are the theme mixes, perfect for things like weddings, parties, working out, etc. my point with these situations is they're still opportunities for epic mixes, not just a playlist of songs that all fit in a particular category. it's about telling that story. 


3. mix as narrative
i've touched on this. i think you're getting the idea. this is basically 1+2 above. it's not just start with a bang and then take it up a notch but then take it down a notch. a really awesome mix tells a story. don't get me wrong; i don't mean all the lyrics = a novel. that's dumb. but would be awesome. but no. 


what i mean is, you can create art by arranging the pieces in a way that evokes the mood you want (at each point, and overall), and that is appropriate to the situation in which the mix is meant to be played. look, you don't listen to kiss at 5am and you don't listen to sublime when it's raining, right? that starts to touch on the depth i'm driving at. 


music is so powerful, and it can be very painful to encounter a song you loathe, a song that's just inappropriate to the situation, or just a song that doesn't play on the emotions you were feeling during the last song you heard. conversely, it can be so blissful if all those things are just right: taste, mood, circumstance, and flow.


in fact, that goes for people too. teeheeheeeeee.

boox vs moofees

i try pretty hard to make it a point to read the book before seeing the movie that kills it. people who "aren't readers" have to listen to us rant about this every time a new "based on" movie comes out. and i'm sorry for that. i'm also sorry that you're missing out on so much because you're too lazy to spend more than 2 hours taking in a story, punk. but perhaps you just dont care and get everything you need from a movie that might be ok in its own right. and perhaps now that you've seen the movie, you feel the book would be a bust because you already know the story and you know what happens next and that ruins it for you or something. i dont know, we've all done it.

sometimes, every once in a while, a movie based on a book does a pretty honest job. interview with a vampire, for example, kicked butt at this. granted, anne rice was intimately involved in the screenplay process, but no matter the reason, this was a rare win. the movie was not only AWESOME, but it was nearly identical to the book - in terms of character development, plot, even dialogue. then queen of the damned totally failed. awesome movie, but made no sense, and the book was a jillion times different. i suppose the question is, does it matter if the movie "isn't as good as the book?"




the immediate example that comes to mind is Sophie's Choice, by William Styron. (what?! i thought for sure she'd complain about lord of the rings! nope, it's been done to death.) i knew it would make me cry and i knew what the choice was, but that's pretty much all i knew when i read it. i also knew there was a movie that "people" were generally pretty stoked about, overall. so i flew through the book knowing the whole time that i would later be pointing out every variation in the movie, like in one of those games in Highlights magazine where you have to circle all the things that are different in the two pictures of the same scene. 

little did i know that the book and the movie were two COMPLETELY different creatures. the way i've explained it before is that the book is over 500 pages long, and the movie covers about 100 pages, and does so quite selectively. it would be easier to try to figure out what's the same.


basically, this made me very angry. here's a book with sensitive subject matter, and tons of complexity and depth, and honestly, it's more about the narrator than stupid sophie, and i was so excited to see how a lot of it would translate, and the whole time i'm thinking 'this would be a really long movie,' and then BAM, it's a movie about the holocaust that doesnt make any sense. like we needed another one of those.


another example is everything is illuminated. that book was AWESOME. and nothing like i expected. and super fun to read. and the movie made absolutely NO sense. i dont know how these things happen. i guess that's why they make a point to say things like "based on the novel" or "based on a true story." then the creative license exists to do whatever you feel like to it!


ok, enough whining. i'm not even going to get into the books based on movies, fan fiction, and all that jazz (*cough* star wars books *cough*).


media is so much fun because of stuff like this. different media reach different audiences, and with each translation, a new version is created, and exists independently from the "original." i love reading a book and then watching the movie based on it, because it's a whole new experience (plus i like to make those comparisons and try to figure out if the screenplay writer, director, producer, etc. had a different interpretation of what was important to the story as a whole, blah blah blah).

and new things are happening with this. ok, not super new, but pretty cool nonetheless. we've had batman movies and superman movies for quite some time, but since warner brothers bought the rights to certain dc comics, we've been inundated with some pretty badass-hollywood-movie versions of comic books. movies meant for adults, with depth and sex and yes, violence, at a level that was only alluded to in the comics meant for kids. 


AND THEN! introduce video games into the mix. Prince of Persia: a brand spakin new movie that looks like it will be pretty sweet, based on a video game that's been around for quite some time. in a video game, you certainly have plot and character development, but a movie is pretty much just one story. so it's almost more of a spinoff... kind of like comics.. SAFE GROUND! lemme 'splain.

with a novel, you have a solid story with a clear beginning and end, specific characters, meanings, points, nuances, and so forth. you can't really mess with much without being a ruiner. with comics, you have your main character(s) and some recurring villains, and a bunch of episodic plots where all that has to happen is the hero defeats a bad guy. video games are similar - you keep the back story, the hero, and within those parameters you could insert almost any plot you'd like. which makes movies based on comics and games "safe" from jerks like me.

un rapporto instabile

you knew it was coming. i warned you. guess you've figured out by now that i dig reading. i dig books. i dig ideas. and this book is about reading, books, and ideas. surprisingly enough (to me), many people who enjoy reading DO NOT dig this book. again, warned.

italo calvino's if on a winter's night a traveler is one of my more recent favorites. have you ever noticed something you tend to do while reading? i don't just mean sitting in a comfy chair, but that too. i also mean things like notice that the author certainly used the word 'void' a lot. or that if this character says this one thing, someone's gunna die soon. now what if those patterns you notice or participate in were violated? what if they were pointed out to you in the very thing you're dissecting? would it make you uncomfortable? what if the plot wasn't resolved? would you put the book in the freezer? 


this pile of words is so much stinking fun i have to bifurcate again. it's becoming habit, i know, but at least then you can pretend this is like a choose your own adventure or something where you don't actually have to read the whole thing, just the piece you want, but then you'll actually end up reading the whole thing anyway because what could have happened?! ok, you don't have to read the whole thing. but you do. you can't help it. just be glad i'm not.. trifurcating!! because i totally could.


so remember when i said that someday i would compare this book with brautigan's watermelony goodness? apparently 'someday' is today. so i guess you have to call that one guy you told 'maybe someday' and stave him off with the 'maybe' part. here are the things about which i will now expound:

1. the reader!

is she talking about me? she can't be talking about me! yes, i am.

2. comparisons!
watermelons and feedings and travelers, oh my!


aaaaand they're off!


1. reader vs author vs character vs story vs ... verses. 

ha. see what i did there? anywho. this tome of awesome makes a very sharp point about the act of reading. it dives deep into the reader's psyche and pokes and prods it, teasing it. 

i suggested this book to my dear, angelic moms (right), and she assigned it to her book group at the library (you can decide later if that was awesome or mean). parentheticals aside, my moms has a blog too, go read it, she's a pro. and she gives away free books! 


which brings me closer to my punto numero uno. calvino doesn't just pick the scab off your plot and character wounds. you know, all those times you were really into a book but the plot left you with all kinds of dangling chads, or a character you fell madly in love with died or turned out to be an a-hole or whatever. he also plays with the roles we assume and interact with and assign as we read. i am the reader, this dude wrote this book, some people on the east coast published it, a nice lady like my moms will help you find it in the library, your friends will see it on your shelf and give you a funny look like you're a crazy person... and these roles are all mutually exclusive. JUST KIDDING.


seriousface, first paragraph of the book. calvino begins his experiment (on you) thusly:

You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a winter's night a traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, 'No, I don't want to watch TV!' Raise your voice - they won't hear you otherwise - 'I'm reading! I don't want to be disturbed!' Maybe they haven't heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell: 'I'm beginning to read Italo Calvino's new novel!' Or if you prefer, don't say anything; just hope they'll leave you alone. 

oh, that's right. he went there. the whole first chapter is in the second person. who does that?! YOU. you have been cast as the reader and you are taking directions about how to go about reading this book you're reading. tasty treat: when i started reading this book for the first time i was on my exercise bike, so it really made me giggle a few paragraphs later when he begins to talk about the most comfortable position, chair, etc. for reading.


the first question we asked the book group was,

was this book hard to read?

and the answer was a resounding yes. ok, so this is half of the reason the book group was a little irked: every other (like 1, 3, 5, not every single other) chapter is directed at you, the reader. but the reader evolves. no spoilers. the other other chapters (you know, 2, 4, 6) are stories. like the kind you're actually familiar with. with plots n recognizable tannins. the second half of the reason the book group was a little irked is that none of these little short stories has an end. that's right, and it's not a spoiler, i promise. 


you read the first chapter, get into it, don't really know what's going on because you've just been talked at by a chapter about the act of you reading, but you go with it, thinking ok, that was weird, but i guess this book is about this dude at a train station NOPE. and it is not a choose your own adventure, so don't try skipping the next chapter to see what happens next in that story. you'll just find another beginning. there is purpose and reason, mind you. just no minor resolution to these minor tales. this is a book about your relationship with it, with reading, with words, with stories, with.. your expectations.


moving right along...


2. comparisons are odious.

Meaning: Comparison (especially of people) is not productive and can have unpleasant consequences. People should be judged on their own merits.

Note: comparison (noun) = the act of comparing | compare (verb) = measure or note the similarity or dissimilarity between people or things | odious (adj) = extremely unpleasant; distasteful.


thank you, english club, but i am inclined to respectfully disagree. one can make all sorts of synaptic connections and find more relevant meaning when comparing. and comparing people is just fun. and part of our culture. but i digress.


while this book should be judged on its own merit (and i judge it fan-freaking-tasticulous), i also noticed that picking on the reader, speaking to the reader, and fiddling with the reader's expectations are not totally unique concepts. particularly, i am referring to a reference to which i have already referred: in watermelon sugar. 


in in watermelon sugar, our main character doesn't have a name, and he's speaking directly to you, reader, and so much of what he tells you depends on your interpretation of it. he won't just tell you what you expect, or how you expect to be told; he tells you whatever his crazypants brain feels like, and places the responsibility on you, reader, to make sense of it. this can frustrate some people. 


i also mentioned Feed, and implied this book warrants comparisons there as well. seem far-fetched? ha! ok, it's a bit of a stretch. what made me feel these two are distant cousins is twofold (oh, not again with the forking): the relationship to words - if on a winter's night is all about the reader's relationship to words and to books and the whole world of reading, right? you don't know, i know, so yeah, i'm right; AND the way the author toys with the reader by using different .. angles. in the case of feed, those angles are different media (i mean, still words, but advertisements and song lyrics - not just plot).


well, in feed, books don't exist anymore really. they're not commonplace, anyway. no one reads. there's no reason to, in their new blink-of-an-eye entertainment and knowledge future. and the consequences there are quite fun. at one point our protagonist (or is he?) makes fun of his smartypants girl friend for using a pen and paper. they're totally foreign objects to him. 


then Anderson throws song lyrics at you, Reader, from popular songs in this not-so-distant future. i'd give you a side-by-side comparison of some of the lyrics included in the novel with some of today's pop song lyrics, but instead, let me just give you another awesome chart to make my point. 

your head in a vice

Samuel Butler said,

"The function of vice is to keep virtue within reasonable bounds."

i concur, good sir! Plato claimed the soul is like a chariot (reason) pulled by two horses: spirit, and appetite. spirit is easier to control than appetite, so we must develop our reason in order to better control our 'horses,' and not lead a life where debauchery outweighs integrity. 


and John Keats wrote wrote an ode on indolence (laziness). in this poem, he describes three figures: ambition, love, and poesy (poetry, which Keats sees as his vice). are we sensing a pattern yet? i must warn you that everything below is my own interpretation and i am by no means an authority. the full text of the poem is provided at the end of this post so's you can make your own interpretation.


Keats laments that he cannot have all three, but that in order for one to flourish, the others must retreat. He describes them:

They pass'd, like figures on a marble urn

When shifted round to see the other side;

They came again, as, when the urn once more

Is shifted round, the first seen shades return; 

i.e., you can't look at all sides of the urn at once; to fully see one figure, it has to be turned so the others are just out of focus. once he recognized 'who' they are, our narrator seems overcome with emotion. he recognizes that he doesn't have love, and that ambition is short-lived, but that his art - poesy - makes him indolent. it is his vice. 


however, the way he ends this ode is most interesting to me. some think he's refusing to acknowledge these three ruling forces in his life, or that he's deciding to continue to choose poesy over love and ambition with his final declaration:

Fade softly from my eyes, and be once more

In masque-like figures on the dreary urn;

Farewell! I yet have visions for the night,

And for the day faint visions there is store;

Vanish, ye phantoms, from my idle spright,

Into the clouds, and never more return!

i think, though, he's decided they are crude representations of life. they're masque-like on a deary urn. he has visions - inspiration - and that is worth a lot to him. he calls them phantoms, mocking his idleness. he may look idle, but he's filled with his 'vice.' 

i choose to reject the 'dualist' thinking that separates spirit from appetite, and love, ambition, and art from one another. it's just not that simple. it's the whole mind over matter, body versus mind mentality that i tend to disregard as naive. these are helpful ways to examine life and oneself, but the lines are much blurrier.


i see his 'ambition' as a representation of work, 'love' as a representation of family, and 'poesy' as art. but these are all intertwined in a life. further, for Keats, his ambition was his poetry, his work. and his friends/family were, granted, second to his work, but all surrounding it, inspiring it, relating to it.


we all have art in our lives in one way or another. is Keats saying that art is a luxury, to be enjoyed as a vice for those who have time to laze about and sigh and think and feel? and are those people then lacking in ambition and love? i don't see a lot of bums writing poetry.also, i find it interesting that this isnt an ode TO indolence, but ON it. prepositions have all kinds of meaning, you know. he's not singing a pretty song to laziness. he's lamenting ON the topic of it. 


ok, enough deep thoughts. anyone know who Jane Campion is? she's rad. i fell in love with her when i saw The Piano. anyone seen the piano? she wrote and directed it. guess what else she wrote and directed? her first in many many years - Bright Star. it's about Keats (oh, there's the connection). Campion rules at invoking emotion and mood with color and placement and all that mise en scene stuff. 

i have no idea how historically accurate it is, and i dont really care. kind of like i know Amadeus isn't accurate, but it's still one of my favorite movies. if you liked The Piano, and/or you like Keats, and/or you like period pieces, great art, etc, etc, just see the movie. it's long and slow, plotwise, but if you pay attention, every minute has something to show you.






now, as promised, the complete Ode on Indolence by John Keats:



One morn before me were three figures seen,
    With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced;
And one behind the other stepp'd serene,
    In placid sandals, and in white robes graced:
They pass'd, like figures on a marble urn,
    When shifted round to see the other side;
        They came again; as when the urn once more
Is shifted round, the first seen shades return;
    And they were strange to me, as may betide
        With vases, to one deep in Phidian lore.

How is it, shadows, that I knew ye not?
    How came ye muffled in so hush a masque?
Was it a silent deep-disguised plot
    To steal away, and leave without a task
My idle days?  Ripe was the drowsy hour;
    The blissful cloud of summer-indolence
        Benumb'd my eyes; my pulse grew less and less;
Pain had no sting, and pleasure's wreath no flower.
    O, why did ye not melt, and leave my sense
        Unhaunted quite of all but - nothingness?

A third time pass'd they by, and, passing, turn'd
    Each one the face a moment whiles to me;
Then faded, and to follow them I burn'd
    And ached for wings, because I knew the three:
The first was a fair maid, and Love her name;
    The second was Ambition, pale of cheek,
        And ever watchful with fatigued eye;
The last, whom I love more, the more of blame
    Is heap'd upon her, maiden most unmeek, -
        I knew to be my demon Poesy.

They faded, and, forsooth!  I wanted wings:
    O folly!  What is Love? and where is it?
And for that poor Ambition - it springs
    From a man's little heart's short fever-fit;
For Poesy! - no, - she has not a joy, -
    At least for me, - so sweet as drowsy noons,
        And evenings steep'd in honied indolence;
O, for an age so shelter'd from annoy,
    That I may never know how change the moons,
        Or hear the voice of busy common-sense!

A third time came they by: - alas! wherefore?
    My sleep had been embroider'd with dim dreams;
My soul had been a lawn besprinkled o'er
    With flowers, and stirring shades, and baffled beams:
The morn was clouded, but no shower fell,
    Though in her lids hung the sweet tears of May;
        The open casement press'd a new-leaved vine,
    Let in the budding warmth and throstle's lay;
O shadows!  'twas a time to bid farewell!
        Upon your skirts had fallen no tears of mine.

So, ye three ghosts, adieu!  Ye cannot raise
    My head cool-bedded in the flowery grass;
For I would not be dieted with praise,
    A pet-lamb in a sentimental farce!
Fade softly from my eyes, and be once more
    In masque-like figures on the dreary urn;
        Farewell!  I yet have visions for the night,
And for the day faint visions there is store;
        Vanish, ye phantoms, from my idle spright,
    Into the clouds, and never more return!

Written in 1819