Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Huuklyeand Cinquor on Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish

Why make such a stink about leaving?
The first and only time you said 

Something worth waiting for
Was when you said goodbye.

Moderator’s comments: At times I can’t help wondering if some of Cinquor’s offerings contain references that he’s carried over from other works of art; take this one, for example. It reeks of something that might have been said by Vladimir to Estragon or vice-versa. But then again, an artist bearing such impeccable references wouldn’t be that heavy-handed in the handling of our cultural baggage, would he? Besides, the image of a fumbling Cinquor decked out as porter is so ludicrously repulsive as to be unbearable.


  1. Oh, Vassilis—it doth not reek! And I don't hear the Froggy Irishman's clowns bantering cheek to cheek. There's a likelier source—or one to which I'm just more partial. I mean Martial:

    You ask me what I get
    Out of my country place.
    The profit, gross or net,
    Is never seeing your face.

    That one's Englished by James Michie, as is this one, which also has a Cinquorish bite, I think:

    Rigidly classical, you save
    Your praise for poets in the grave.
    Forgive me, its not worth my while
    Dying to earn your critical smile.

    Now I, of course, would gladly give up the ghost if only...

  2. Joe,

    If Cinquor has never heard of James Michie, it's high-time he did. Rest assured I will tell him to get off his sedated high horse and snort down some of Mr. Michie's powerful stuff.

    In the meantime, thanks for these two outta-sight tokes!

  3. I wonder if we're all like that, if our deaths are the only real things we might say, one way or another?



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