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Sunday, May 4, 2014

Wishful drinkin'

One Stella
does not
a poet
make.
I would think that morose drunks would make the best poets. Somebody who, once you get a few drinks in them, gets all reflective and sad and starts crying in their beer and  then makes you cry too. The melancholy philosopher doing Jello shots. I might be wrong about that.

I, being cheerfully sober most of the time, am a silly, giggly drunk. Which may explain to my readers reader a lot about the quality of this blog.

Just for fun I Googled 'drunk poet' and voilĂ ! Someone had addressed the topic more cogently. Charles Baudelaire*, French poet born in 1821, had a delightful observation (he also had 'bohemian urges') (He said, '... art must create beauty from even the most depraved or “non-poetic” situations'):
Be always drunken. Nothing else matters: that is the only question. If you would not feel the horrible burden of Time weighing on your shoulders and crushing you to the earth, be drunken continually.
 Drunken with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will. But be drunken.
And if sometimes, on the stairs of a palace, or on the green side of a ditch, or in the dreary solitude of your own room, you should awaken and the drunkenness be half or wholly slipped away from you, ask of the wind, or of the wave, or of the star, or of the bird, or of the clock, of whatever flies, or sighs, or rocks, or sings, or speaks, ask what hour it is; and the wind, wave, star, bird, clock, will answer you: "It is the hour to be drunken! Be drunken, if you would not be martyred slaves of Time; be drunken continually! With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will.”
Cool and forward-thinking (see prose-poem above) guy, even if he did die, probably of syphilis, at age 46.

I do not have syphilis but after a Stella last night I did think about the complexities of writing drunk:

I Tried to Write a Poem Drunk

I tried to write a poem drunk
and searched to find some words
to make the lines the sense they need
dear god so hammered it’s absurd

I tried to write a poem, drunk,
ovbiously this is your fault --
Il est l'heure de s'enivrer!* 
the words in my head somersault

I write a poem drunk so now
tell me the poem things again?
so this pretends to make some sense
like all poems that happen when

we drink think too much and wonder why?
Why write a poem, poet, drunk?

*It is time to be drunk!

This is not my favorite Bey Bey song but what else could I use? So obvious. (See, I do know how to spell it.)


* Probably not a coincidence that the protagonists of The Series of Unfortunate Events books, by Lemony Snicket, are named 'Baudelaire.' A series that begins wonderfully but descends into violent (Violet?) melodrama by the end. (The beginning being only threateningly violent.)

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