From sole to crown

I have a friend of many years who just always seems to be the best-dressed and most at ease with himself. You would never see him get hot and sweaty, which is something to which we can all perspire.

He would never crack lousy puns like that, either, you may be sure.

But the other day I saw a picture of him down in New Orleans for the carnival goins'-on and I thought that the most apt descriptive phrase would be "clean-favored and imperially slim." Not that he is so skinny as to ecto-morph into David Bowie in his "Thin White Duke" era, but he's just always had that way of suaving it up. F'rinstance, he could easily wear a fedora and you'd say, "Hey, Richard, nice fedora!" and if I were to put on the selfsame model of hat, all you'd say would be, "Hey, what's wit the hat, already?"

So. "Clean-favored and imperially slim" is a phrase I ripped off from the song and poem "Richard Cory" by the old folk group Edwin, Arlington and Robinson. Nah. The poet was named Edwin Arlington Robinson, and his life was not a big bowl of pudding, I'll tell you that right now. His parents wanted a girl, although no one wants a girl named "Edwin." His brother Dean, a physician, died of an overdose, and then old Edwin tried to talk Dean's widow Emma into marrying him - twice - without success. I mean, really. He moved to New York and wrote his first book of poetry to try to impress his mother, who died just before the book came out.
So, little wonder that his poems were not of the feel-good Rod McKuen "Listen to the Warm" genre, but, rather, they presaged the gloomy works of many of today's top poets and balladeers, Trini Lopez among them.

Simon and Garfunkel re-worked his "Richard Cory" into a top-40 hit, which was surely something that Edwin never envisioned. He was credited with but one other hit record in the Rock 'n' Roll era: "Papa Oom Mow Mow" by the Rivingtons. * 

Here for your Saturday reading enjoyment are both versions. Please stay cheery!

* Not true, I made it up!

_________________________________________________

Richard   Cory  as written by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean-favoured 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 in his head.

Simon And Garfunkel version

They say that Richard Cory owns one half of this whole town,
With political connections to spread his wealth around.
Born into society, a banker's only child,
He had everything a man could want: power, grace, and style.

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I'm living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.

The papers print his picture almost everywhere he goes:
Richard Cory at the opera, Richard Cory at a show.
And the rumor of his parties and the orgies on his yacht!
Oh, he surely must be happy with everything he's got.

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I'm living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.

He freely gave to charity, he had the common touch,
And they were grateful for his patronage and thanked him very much,
So my mind was filled with wonder when the evening headlines read:
"Richard Cory went home last night and put a bullet through his head."

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I'm living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.