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PoetryDeathMatch: Omar Khayyam v Edward Lear [1]
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Date: 2022-07-22
This is poetry deathmatch. Pistols for two and lunch for one. Taking the great, complex, nonlinearity of art, reducing it to a binary choice and stamping it with a boot into a human face. Forever, as George would have it. That went dark in a hurry.
Omar was an amazing brain, a polymath a thousand years ago in Persia. He was a great mathematician, an astronomer, and, in his spare time, Irans most noted poet.
Edward Lear was a Victorian nonsense poet-think Lewis Carrol, and a lonely, tormented man. He suffered from chronic low self esteem and epileptic seizures of which he was bitterly ashamed.
The moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a word of it. Khayyam.
These are my all time favorite lines. The second Law of thermodynamics in verse, you can't go back.
There was an Old Person of Ewell,
Who chiefly subsisted on gruel;
But to make it more nice
He inserted some mice,
Which refreshed that Old Person of Ewell.
Please, Sir, may I have some more? You will notice the form of the limerick, the person from or who, the body, then the person again. Characteristic of Lear. The modern limerick is like a joke, with a punchline:
There was a young man from Racine.
Who invented a fucking machine.
Concave or convex, it fit either sex, and had something for those in between.
To my modern ear, this is preferable. Excuse me, gotta a date with that machine. It knows what I like and does it to a precision of within .025mm.
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
Sorry Omar, the Machine is my paradise now. This may be his most famous quatrain. Considerably more light than the last.
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!"
Im going to leave that right there.
Lear often wrote about the kinds of relationship he longed for, and it goes well with Omar above. Money wrapped in money. I like it.
Good friends beware! the only life we knows Flies from us like an arrow from the bow, the Caravan of life is moving by, Quick! to your places in the passing show.
So Roses are red, violets are blue, with each passing day life grows shorter, Happy birthday to you, poetry's eternal verity. Notice how it compares with the moving finger.
Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl! How charmingly sweet you sing! O let us be married! too long we have tarried: But what shall we do for a ring?" They sailed away, for a year and a day, To the land where the Bong-Tree grows And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood With a ring at the end of his nose, His nose, His nose, With a ring at the end of his nose.
So the pig represents capitalism and the ring the promise of a middle class life eternally dangled-oh, wait, I'm not an English professor, I can read for fun. Which “Owl, you elegant fowl” most certainly is.
Set not thy heart on any good or gain, Life means but pleasure, or means but pain; when Time lets slip a little perfect hour, O take it - for it will not come again.
So gather ye rosebuds while you may for life is short and tough. We are going to be dead a long time…
“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will." So they took it away, and were married next day By the Turkey who lives on the hill. They dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon.
Much more cheering. And that, my friends, is how I learned what a runcible spoon is.
Wake! For the Sun, who scattered into flight
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav'n and strikes
The Sultán's Turret with a Shaft of Light.
Thats beautiful. Sometimes we hate to get up though…but, wait, theres more.
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted--"Open, then, the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more." So you can't drink in the morning until you've got up.
Mostly he’s saying carpe diem, but its in the saying.
There was an old man of Thermopylæ,
Who never did anything properly;
But they said, "If you choose, To boil eggs in your shoes,
You shall never remain in Thermopylæ." Here “they” prosecute the eccentric, probably Lear himself. I've always had a weakness for nonsense poetry. Did you know theres a rap song of it? Pharcide's, “ya mama” ya mamas got a glass eye with the fish init, pegleg with a kickstand, afro with a chinstrap, ect. Isn't that great?
I hate to chop up the Rubaiyat, so you should read the whole thing here. Its trully great.
classics.mit.edu/…
All those of you poetry is only good in the original language types, anyone speak Farsi? I've read that Fitzgerald was a bit more of a co-author than a translator, any truth there?
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