This is an excerpt from one of my favorite “poems.” I put that in quotation marks because I discovered, after the fact, that these are actually song lyrics. They are probably under copyright, so I quote only in part:
I drink to drive away all the years I have hated,
The ambitions frustrated that no longer survive.
I drink day after day to the chaos behind me,
Yes, I drink to remind me that I still am alive.
So I give you a toast to the endless confusions,
To the lies and delusions that have swallowed my life.
Yes, I give you a toast to the wine and the roses,
To the deadly cirrhosis that can cut like a knife.
…
For the children unborn, for their dead, phantom faces,
For our sterile embraces in the tomb of your bed.
I drink, and I mourn for the harvest that failed,
For the ship that has sailed, for the hope that is dead.
…
Yes, I drink till I burst in my own degradation,
To the edge of damnation that is waiting below.
Yes, I drink with a thirst that destroys and depraves me
And cuffs and enslaves me, and will never let go.
To me, these lyrics are so stark, so raw, that they deserve to be read in a muted tone, surrounded by dead silence. I was shocked not only to learn that they come from a song, but also that the song sounds … well, in my opinion, too upbeat. The song is by Charles Aznavour, a Frenchman who had mastered several languages and produced a wide range of music. He also has a great voice and clearly writes pretty good poetry in English.
Here he is:
With all due respect, I just don’t find that crushing enough. The music and the voice are too beautiful for the ugly content. These lyrics, by themselves, are one of the poems I turn to from time to time for catharsis, but the song, I admit, I don’t care for. Of course, my knowledge of music is limited, so there may be something here I’m missing.