|
| abruptly |
| (in memory of Ben Brooks III, 1959 - 1999) |
| A man, whose future |
| abruptly |
| ended |
| in high school, |
| forced to live in the present |
| for another twenty years more. |
| I remember him then, Richard Cory, |
| he glittered like fine sprinkled dust when he chose; |
| disinherited, condemned |
| to nothing then |
| but the next moment's same stand: |
| the tired bed, the worn path floor |
| contemplated |
| to the cigarette in his hand. |
| A man, whose life |
| abruptly |
| ended |
| on a rope in his shower |
| twenty years of the present |
| having been more |
| than he wanted to stand; |
| found ten days later, |
| and if nobody |
| wanted to look at him then, |
| it no longer made any difference. |
| I'll think of him now, Richard Cory, |
| returned triumphant, |
| reclaiming himself. |
| © Jon Bohrn (1999) |
"An old man paints the ocean" - a 1997 tribute to his father, Ben Brooks Jr.
| Richard Cory |
| 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. |
| Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869-1935) |
