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Post by scriptamanent on May 16, 2010 10:14:15 GMT -5
A list of names upon his desk A grim account of what he does Certain that the dead can't rise And off he goes to find More creatures left behind Then dream or picture how they died Deceiving those who thought The dead had only been a burden With resurrected hope to tolerate The malarkey of bargains And haggle over the price of life Buried in death's gardens With those who tortured dignity Who mortgaged love and pride The Plyushkins the Sobakevichs Have dead souls of all kinds At every home in every land There'll always be a Chichikov Thriving on their pettiness Either officially not dead or Only legally alive
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Post by Nick Harris on May 16, 2010 16:29:21 GMT -5
"death's gardens." - nice, juxtaposed with the darkness of the poem.
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Post by Ivan Carswell on May 17, 2010 6:49:37 GMT -5
Is this a justification for Nabokov's penchant to create connections between things palpably deceased? Or Nicoletta's view they never were? Malarkey, now there is an enigma! Yet it makes a better sense of where you have us looking. This isn't 'poshlost' as much as an expression of what we may have missed...
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Post by scriptamanent on May 18, 2010 4:51:54 GMT -5
thank you both for reading and commenting, this poem emerged from Dead Souls by Gogol and a weekly challenge based on the word "malarky" i backspaced a loooooong reply... it was poetically autobiographical, so if you'll excuse me...
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Post by Don Schaeffer on May 18, 2010 5:20:09 GMT -5
This is a very sophisticated and literate piece. I love the rhythm of it, a kind of rant. I am very impressed with the literary history.
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Post by Nick Harris on May 18, 2010 10:31:09 GMT -5
I must not be very literate but, I like it. It makes me think of a corrupt society, perhaps run by a mafia. And the names are very poetic when put together - individually, they would not. Kind of reminds me of a Phillip Dick or Thomas Pynchon novel (or even Dashiel Hammett). Anyway, does the cost of burying someone correspond with their value when alive? In a capitalist society, how much we are willing to spend on the dead is a sad metaphor for love. Cheers.
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Post by scriptamanent on May 20, 2010 0:42:03 GMT -5
Thanks Don! Nick, your poem on the front page is very strong and good. Thanks for commenting on this one
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