Crooked Rhyme

"The poet reads/His crooked rhyme."--"Bleecker Street," as sung by Simon and Garfunkel, 1964. This blog is dedicated to the poems of Kelley Dupuis.

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Location: Washington, D.C., United States

I love a rainy night, but never cared much for the late Eddie Rabbitt. I'm a writer and editor by trade, weekend painter and one hell of a cook by avocation. I make a fabulous daquiri using Ernest Hemingway's recipe. I love classical music and jazz when I'm at home, classic rock when I'm barreling up the interstate at 70 mph. I have a Trek road bike and a Cannondale mountain bike. I turned 53 on Oct. 12, 2008. Peanut butter goes great with coffee. My favorite pianists are Glenn Gould and Thelonious Monk. I've lived in Europe, South America, Africa and Russia. I speak a little Russian. I can say the Pledge of Allegiance in Spanish. I know how to make feijoada, the national dish of Brazil. I once drove in a demolition derby. I love baseball, but I bear the cross of being a San Diego Padres fan. I hate cellphones. I like good Scotch, quality cigars, Frank Sinatra and delicatessen fare. I collect books. I'm a lousy chess player. Mozart is God.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Do You Want To be Immortal, or Do You Want To Live A Long Time?

We’ve been quoting Keats for nearly two centuries.
The late Carolyn Jones, on The Addams Family, intoned
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” No question:
Keats is with us always. But now so is Hunt, his friend,
Whom he creamed in sonnet competition, and who was
Long considered a footnote. No more. Keats died at 26,
Coughing his lungs out in Rome. That’s literary legend.
Hunt made it to 75. Who knows where or how he died?
But they’re both on Wikipedia. So who’d you rather be?

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