Issa's Untidy Hut: Richard Cory: Issa's Sunday Service, #180

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Richard Cory: Issa's Sunday Service, #180

E. A. Robinson

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If it lacks the subtlety of Paul Simon's own later work, "Richard Cory," by Simon and Garfunkel, has some of the power of the original Edwin Arlington Robinson lyric. Still, it is remarkable how little of that original is retained: more the idea of the poem than the actual words themselves. Like a screenplay for a popular novel, the song itself is, if anything, a translation, a rendition of the poem.

First comes Arlington's poem, than Simon's song. Comparing them is a real lesson in process.

Richard Cory 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 favored, 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 through his head.

Richard Cory (song) - Paul Simon

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

About Robinson's poem, Ellsworth Barnard cuts to the chase:

We need not crush this little piece under a massive analysis; a few more or less obvious comments will suffice to show how carefully the poem is put together. The first two lines suggest Richard Cory's distinction, his separation from ordinary folk. The second two tell what it is in his natural appearance that sets him off. The next two mention the habitual demeanor that elevates him still more in men's regard: his apparent lack of vanity, his rejection of the eminence that his fellows would accord him. At the beginning of the third stanza, "rich" might seem to be an anticlimax—but not in the eyes of ordinary Americans; though, as the second line indicates, they would not like to have it thought that in their eyes wealth is everything. The last two lines of the stanza record a total impression of a life that perfectly realizes the dream that most men have of an ideal existence; while the first two lines of the last stanza bring us back with bitter emphasis to the poem's beginning, and the impassable gulf, for most people—but not, they think, for Richard Cory—between dream and fact. Thus the first fourteen lines are a painstaking preparation for the last two, with their stunning overturn of the popular belief.

I do love Barnard's caution that we need not crush the poem.

Simon is arguably the finest popular songwriter of his generation, a success that stands up remarkably well over the years. In "Richard Cory (the song)," the listener realizes right away one of the central points that Barnard makes: the distinction between Cory and regular folk. In fact, Simon brilliantly telescopes this into a first person narrator in the chorus. In so doing, he simultaneously captures the essence of the poem, pulls the reader in, and retains the big shoe drop ending.

Thanks so much for the reader suggestion of this song.

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