On a recent sunny fall day I was walking the streets of Manhattan. My PD drugs were “on,” and I felt glorious and, well, glittery. I remembered a phrase from Edwin Arlington Robinson’s famous poem, “Richard Cory,” and came up with the opening lines of the sonnet below. I finished writing the sonnet on my train home to the suburbs.
First, Robinson’s original poem:
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; first published in 1897
Second, my sonnet response:
Sonnet Response to “Richard Cory”
I think I know how Richard Cory felt,
‘Cause when I’m “on” I glitter as I walk.
The words flow from my mouth as happy talk,
And I accept the hand that I’ve been dealt.
But whoa! the world turns dismal when I’m “off”!
I tremble. Stumble. Cannot hold a pen.
Anxiety, that snarling lion’s den,
Tosses me like slop into its trough.
Yet even though I know things will get worse
(Just look at Janet Reno’s final days),
My inner drive keeps piercing through the haze,
Compelling me to put this down in verse:
On many/most days I’m still having fun.
So Richard Cory, put away that gun!
– Bruce Ballard, November 11, 2016
