Today we are pleased to share our space with Loren Korevec. A long-time friend, Loren is a master musician who, as the piano player at the legendary New York institution "Elaines", has entertained some of the greatest names in our culture. But he is so much more. A man deeply committed to his craft, his acerbic wit is second to none. I believe that these things will become very evident when you read his epic poem. We are damned proud to have him!
In the Summer of 1813 four year old Edgar Allen Poe wrote a
poem depicting a maritime battle he had observed one early morning over
Baltimore harbor.
Imagine his horror when
attending an Oriole’s baseball game, he heard his poem set to a poorly crafted
English drinking song. He was further
aghast to learn that his poem had been plagiarized by Francis Scott Key, a
woman he’d disliked since they were in daycare together.
Thus began a darkward descent which would shade his work henceforth
commencing with this early draft. He is
believed to have composed it while indentured to a cruel abusive landscaper who
forced him to rake leaves endlessly each October. Thus:
The Leaves
See the
dewdrops on the leaves
Spring
leaves
What a
world of promise their rustling conceives!
How they
whisper, whisper, whisper
In the
balmy air of night!
While the
vesper breath
Caress the
boughs
With an
herbaline delight.
Declaring
Springtime, Springtime, Springtime
In a sort
of rhyme, rhyme,
To the
chlorophilabulation that so lyrically weaves
Through
the leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves,
In the
stirring and the purring of the leaves.
See the
lovely wedding wreathes,
Olive
wreathes!
What a
world of happiness their woven ring fortells!
Through
the balmy air of night
Bursting
out in their delight!
From the
basil greenish scent,
And an in
tune.
Where the
wafting pollen went
To the
turtle dove that coos
While she
gloats upon the moon.
Oh, from out
the crowns of trees
What a
gush of green.
Gold,
yellow, red, euphony, equinox thieves
Begin to
fall
On the
future it believes
Of the
rapture it believes
Of the
rapture the bereaves
To the
falling, falling, falling
Of the
leaves, leaves, leaves,
Of the
leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves
Leaves,
leaves, leaves,
To the
spilling and the killing of the leaves.
See the
brightly glaring leaves
Blazing
leaves!
What a
tale of terror, their turbulancy shows!
In dazzle
daylight glows
With
silent scream afright! Too much horrified of height,
With
silent scream afright!
They can
only sink, sink, to the doom
In a
bright appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a gawdy
garish groaning with the blind raging fire
Piling
higher, higher, higher,
With a desparate
desire,
And a
resolute endeavor,
Now, now
to sit or never, by the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh the
leaves, leaves, leaves!
What a
tale their terror weaves
Of
despaire!
How they
drop, and crash, and roar!
What a
horror they outpour
On the
bosom of the palpitating earth!
Yet the
senses fully know,
By the
crunching,
And the
choking,
How the
danger ebbs and flows,
Yet the
heart distinctly knows,
From the
covering,
And the
smothering.
How the
danger grows and weaves
By the
growing and the weaving in the
Anger of
the leaves
Of the
leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves
Leaves,
leaves, leaves.
See the
crashing of the leaves,
Mortal
leaves!
What a
world of solem thought their monody reveals!
In the
silence of the night.
How we
shiver with afright
At the
melancholy menace of their tone!
For every
leaf that floats
As fingers
on the throats
As a blade
And the people, ah the people
They that
dwell in woods atumble
All alone
And hear
tumble, and rumble, stumble
Smothering
in that stifling Monet tone,
Fell a
glory in so rolling,
On the
human heart a stone.
They are
neither man nor woman,
They are
neither brute nor human,
They are
ghouls and their king it is who wills
That like
confetti fall that kills
And it
fills, fills, fills
A curse
upon the hills
With the
paean of the leaves!
And he
tosses and he heaves
Dropping
red, red, red,
In the
blinding colors wed o the paean of the leaves
Of the
leaves;
Dropping
gold, gold, gold
In the
blinding killing frost cold,
to the
dropping of the leaves,
Of the
leaves, leaves, leaves,
To the
wilting of the leaves;
Dropping yellows, yellows, yellows,
Dropping yellows, yellows, yellows,
As he
swallows, swallows, swallows,
In a
silent gallows mime,
To the
falling of the leaves,
Of the
leaves, leaves, leaves,
To the
pounding of the leaves,
Of the leaves, leaves, leaves.,
Of the leaves, leaves, leaves.,
Leaves
leaves, leaves
To the
crashing, and the gasping of the leaves.
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