Parodies of Fitzgerald’s Omar Khayyam #3: Of Omar Jr, a tobacco aficionado VI

And another installment from the The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, Jr, as “translated from the Original Bornese into English Verse” by Wallace Irwin, author of “The Love Sonnets of a Hoodlum”.  If this is the first installment that you read and would like some background about the poet, I advise you consult the previous posts in these series- the first three or so would do.

Now I continue on from where I stopped last time…..


Better a meager Tome to sow the Seed
Of errant Thought and Fancy’s Lantern feed;
Better a Penny Dreadful than the Book
That sends you into Slumber when you read.


And better still than these gorglorious Things
The Briar’s gracious Narcotine that clings
To my ambrosial Temples till I wear
A Halo-crown of vapoured Vortex Rings.


Virginia for the Pipe’s sweet Charity,
Havana for Cigars to solace me,
And Turkey for the transient Cigarette –
Was all I learned of my Geography.


Cigars I puff devoutly when I May,
And when I Can the Pipe, another Day,
And when I Must I browse on Cigarettes –
Then, as you love me, take the Stubs away!


Waste not your Weed, the Leaves are all too few
Its Nectar to defile as Others do –
Ah, shun the Solecism and the Plug
For Cattle-Kings and Stevedores to chew.


Once in a Dream ’twas granted unto me
The open Gates of Paradise to see,
While Israfel loud chanted from the Void,
“This Vision comes of Pie; not Piety!”


Beloved, smoke my amber Pipe awhile
And from its Bowl narcotic Joys beguile,
Suck Lethe from its Stem – what though I trace
A certain greenish Pallour in your Smile?


Strange is it not that, oft her Dolour cloaking
In hurried Puffs with Nonchalance provoking,
No woman reads that apodictic Ode
“How to be Happy Even Though You’re Smoking?”


Look not so wild, the Fit will pass away –
No barbed Anguish chooses long to stay,
And only in the Pipe is Friendship found
That waxes Strong and Stronger day by day.


Come, rest your Head if Earth rotative seems
And close your Lids from these o’er wakeful Gleams –
Although your Palate cringe you shall not shrink
Within the Kitchen of the House of Dreams.


Murkly I muse on that transcendent State
Where all my Pasts within the Future wait –
If I for Heavenly Marriages am marked,
Oh, what a Turk I’ll be beyond the Gate!


Minnie and Maud across my Flight will wing,
Birdie and Bess and Gwendolyn will bring
A Score of Other Pasts and make a Scene,
To say the Least, a Bit Embarrassing.


Some I have known are jabbering in Hell,
Others have passed in Heaven’s Reward to dwell;
So, when my Soul has flitted, must I find
The same bland Bores, the same old Tales to tell.


There is the Thought beneath whose vampire Tooth
The Soul outshrieks at such unseemly Sooth:
The Solemn Bore still waits beyond the Grave –
Ah, let me stay and taste undying Youth!


Into some secret, migrant Realm without,
By the dun Cloak of Darkness wrapped about,
Or by ringed Saturn’s Swirl thou may’st be hid
In vain: be sure the Bore will find you out.

To be continued….


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: