Withnail & I

Withnail and I

(dir. B. Robinson) (1985) Perfect homage to the strange death of swinging London. Withnail, I and Uncle Monty et al emblematize La Bruyere’s epigram that self-indulgence and severity towards others is the same vice. Looking up from our slim volume of Nigel’s poems, its pages stained with buttery tears from crumpets, we see the sky is beginning to bruise…home lads!  To Vim under the sink and one bar on.  (Look for more killer (and accurate) quotes from the film here). [See “Vivian & I” by Colin Bacon (2010, Quartet Books) for Withnail’s prototype, Vivian Mackerrell. Vivian & I available at Amazon.com]…

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Annabel Lee

September 4, 2014 | Posted by Lesley Jakobsen | Annabel Lee, MUSIC, Poetry, WRITING & LITERATURE |

Annabel Lee (Edgar Allen Poe) It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.   I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love – I and my Annabel Lee – With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this…

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The Faerie Queene of Estonia

August 28, 2014 | Posted by Peter Jakobsen | PETER'S WRITING, Poetry |

This is a Spenserian homage under construction. I reserve the right to alter or burn it. I welcome suggestions towards efforts with respect to the former. PMJ.

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The Greatest Game of Football Ever Played

I was ten years old in 1973 and already tempered by watching Glenelg lose Grand Finals. At the time, only the middle aged recalled our one Premiership season, a glorious against the odds win over Port (in 1934). Since 1967, the Club under Neil Kerley had gained new respect but that tended to dissipate each Spring.

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The Silent Partner

When Dennis Sheldon lifted his head from his desk on Monday morning, he had already been dead for some hours. While working on Sunday afternoon in the dim electric hum of the otherwise empty office he had begun to feel queasy, had felt the half-expected chest pain, had seen the traditional bright light and had fallen forward, denting his now senseless forehead on the corner of his Italian marble desk-set. The desk-set had been a gift from his father.

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