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The Right Kind of Wrong

Cast: Ryan Kwanten, Catherine O'Hara, Ryan McPartlin, Kristen Hager, Sara Canning, Will Sasso, Andrea Stefancikova, Jennifer Baxter

trailer for The Right Kind of Wrong, directed by Jeremiah S. Chechik, screenplay by Megan Martin, inspired by Tim Sandlin (2013)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sara

Go now, dont look back, weve drawn the line
Move on, its no good to go back in time
Ill never find another girl like you, for happy endings it takes two
Were fire and ice, the dream wont come true
Chorus:
Sara, sara, storms are brewin in your eyes
Sara, sara, no time is a good time for goodbyes
Danger in the game when the stakes are high
Branded, my heart was branded while my senses stood by
Ill never find another girl like you, for happy endings it takes two
Were fire and ice, the dream wont come true
Sara, sara, storms are brewin in your eyes
Sara, sara, no time is a good time, oh
Sara, sara, storms are brewin in your eyes
Sara, sara, no time is a good time for goodbyes
(cos sara) loved me like no one has ever loved me before
(and sara) hurt me, no one could ever hurt me more
(and sara) sara, nobody loved me anymore
(guitar solo)
Ill never find another girl like you
Were fire and ice, the dream wont come true
Sara, sara, no time is a good time, oh
Sara, sara, storms are brewin in your eyes
Sara, sara, no time is a good time for goodbyes
Sara, sara, -- storms -- are brewin in your eyes
Sara, sara, no time is a good time, no
Ooh sara, why did it, why did it, why did it all fall apart
Sara, sara...

song performed by Starship
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sara

I laid on a dune, I looked at the sky,
When the children were babies and played on the beach.
You came up behind me, I saw you go by,
You were always so close and still within reach.
Sara, sara,
Whatever made you want to change your mind?
Sara, sara,
So easy to look at, so hard to define.
I can still see them playin with their pails in the sand,
They run to the water their buckets to fill.
I can still see the shells fallin out of their hands
As they follow each other back up the hill.
Sara, sara,
Sweet virgin angel, sweet love of my life,
Sara, sara,
Radiant jewel, mystical wife.
Sleepin in the woods by a fire in the night,
Drinkin white rum in a portugal bar,
Them playin leapfrog and hearin about snow white,
You in the marketplace in savanna-la-mar.
Sara, sara,
Its all so clear, I could never forget,
Sara, sara,
Lovin you is the one thing Ill never regret.
I can still hear the sounds of those methodist bells,
Id taken the cure and had just gotten through,
Stayin up for days in the chelsea hotel,
Writin sad-eyed lady of the lowlands for you.
Sara, sara,
Wherever we travel were never apart.
Sara, oh sara,
Beautiful lady, so dear to my heart.
How did I meet you? I dont know.
A messenger sent me in a tropical storm.
You were there in the winter, moonlight on the snow
And on lily pond lane when the weather was warm.
Sara, oh sara,
Scorpio sphinx in a calico dress,
Sara, sara,
You must forgive me my unworthiness.
Now the beach is deserted except for some kelp
And a piece of an old ship that lies on the shore.
You always responded when I needed your help,
You gimme a map and a key to your door.
Sara, oh sara,
Glamorous nymph with an arrow and bow,
Sara, oh sara,
Dont ever leave me, dont ever go.

song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sara

Go now
Don't look back, we've drawn the line
Move on
It's no good to go back in time
I'll never find another girl like you
For happy endings it takes two
With fire and ice
a dream won't come true
Sara, Sara
Storms are brewin' in your eyes
Sara, Sara
No time is a good time for goodbyes
Danger
In the game when the stakes are high
Branded
My heart was branded while my senses stood by
I'll never find another girl like you
For happy endings it takes two
With fire and ice
a dream won't come true
Sara, Sara
Storms are brewin' in your eyes
uh oh oh oh
Sara, Sara
No time is a good time for goodbyes
(Hey Sara)
Love me like no one has ever loved me before
(And Sara)
Hurt me, no one could ever hurt me more
(Oh Sara)
Sara
(Hey Sara)
Nobody loved me before
I'll never find another girl like you
With fire and ice
a dream won't come true
Sara, Sara
No time is a good time for...
Sara, Sara
Storms are brewin' in your eyes
Sara, Sara
No time is a good time for goodbyes
Sara, Sara
Storms, are brewin' in your eyes
Sara, Sara
No time is a good time
No
Why did it, why did it all fall apart

song performed by Jefferson Starship
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Wake Of Tim O'Hara

TO the Wake of O’Hara
Came company;
All St. Patrick’s Alley
Was there to see,
With the friends and kinsmen
Of the family.
On the long deal table lay Tim in white,
And at his pillow the burning light.
Pale as himself, with the tears on her cheek,
The mother receiv’d us, too full to speak;
But she heap’d the fire, and on the board
Set the black bottle with never a word,
While the company gather’d, one and all,
Men and women, big and small:
Not one in the Alley but felt a call
To the Wake of Tim O’Hara.

At the face of O’Hara,
All white with sleep,
Not one of the women
But took a peep,
And the wives new-wedded
Began to weep.
The mothers gather’d round about,
And prais’d the linen and laying out,—
For white as snow was his winding-sheet,
And all was peaceful, and clean, and sweet;
And the old wives, praising the blessed dead,
Were thronging around the old press-bed,
Where O’Hara’s widow, tatter’d and torn,
Held to her bosom the babe newborn,
And star’d all around her, with eyes forlorn,
At the Wake of Tim O’Hara.

For the heart of O’Hara
Was good as gold,
And the life of O’Hara
Was bright and bold,
And his smile was precious
To young and old!
Gay as a guinea, wet or dry,
With a smiling mouth, and a twinkling eye!
Had ever an answer for chaff and fun;
Would fight like a lion, with any one!
Not a neighbor of any trade
But knew some joke that the boy had made;
Not a neighbor, dull or bright,
But minded something—frolic or fight,
And whisper’d it round the fire that night,
At the Wake of Tim O’Hara.

[...] Read more

poem by William Cosmo Monkhouse
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O'Hara, J.P.

James Patrick O'Hara the Justice of Peace,
He bossed the P.M. and he bossed the police;
A parent, a deacon, a landlord was he—
A townsman of weight was O’Hara, J.P.

He gave out the prizes, foundation-stones laid,
He shone when the Governor’s visit was paid;
And twice re-elected as Mayor was he—
The flies couldn’t roost on O’Hara, J.P.

Now Sandy M‘Fly, of the Axe-and-the-Saw,
Was charged with a breach of the licensing law—
He sold after hours whilst talking too free
On matters concerning O’Hara, J.P.

And each contradicted the next witness flat,
Concerning back parlours, side-doors, and all that;
‘Twas very conflicting, as all must agree—
‘Ye’d better take care!’ said O’Hara, J.P.

But ‘Baby,’ the barmaid, her evidence gave—
A poor, timid darling who tried to be brave—
‘Now, don’t be afraid—if it’s frightened ye be—
‘Speak out, my good girl,’ said O’Hara, J.P.

Her hair was so golden, her eyes were so blue,
Her face was so fair and her words seemed so true—
So green in the ways of sweet women was he
That she jolted the heart of O’Hara, J P.

He turned to the other grave Justice of Peace,
And whispered, ‘You can’t always trust the police;
‘I’ll visit the premises during the day,
‘And see for myself,’ said O’Hara, Jay Pay.
(
Case postponed
.)

’Twas early next morning, or late the same night—
‘’Twas early next morning’ we think would be right—
And sounds that betokened a breach of the law
Escaped through the cracks of the Axe-and-the-Saw.
And Constable Dogherty, out in the street,
Met Constable Clancy a bit off his beat;
He took him with finger and thumb by the ear,
And led him around to a lane in the rear.

He pointed a blind where strange shadows were seen—
Wild pantomime hinting of revels within—

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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All I Have (feat. Jennifer Lopez)

(LL Cool J)
Baby, don't go... Baby, don't go...
Baby, dont go... Baby, don't go...
Baby, don't go... Baby, don't go...
(Jennifer)
Ooh... Yeah... Yeah... Yeah...
(Jennifer)
It's such a shame but I'm leaving
Can't take the way you're mistreating me
And it's crazy, but oh baby
It don't matter, whatever
Don't phase me
(LL Cool J)
I don't believe you wanna leave like this
I don't believe I just had my last real kiss
I do believe we'll laugh and reminisce
Wait a minute, don't bounce baby,
let's talk about this, man...
(Jennifer)
Well I'm bouncin' and I'm out son
I gotta leave you alone
'Cause I'm good
Holdin' down my spot
And I'm good
Reppin' the girls on the block
And I'm good
I got this thing on lock
So without me you'll be fine - right
(Jennifer)
All my pride is all I have
(LL Cool J)
Pride is what you had, baby girl I'm what you have
(Jennifer)
You'll be needing me but too bad
(LL Cool J)
Be easy, don't make decisions while you're mad
(Jennifer)
The path you chose to run alone
(LL Cool J)
I know you're independent, you can make it on your own
(Jennifer)
Here with me you had a home, oh yeah...
(LL Cool J)
But time is of the essence, why spend it alone
(Jennifer)
The nights I waited up for you
Promises you made about coming through
So much time you wasted
That's why I had to replace you
(LL Cool J)

[...] Read more

song performed by LL Cool J
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Inauguration of the University College

Good people of Dundee, your voices raise,
And to Miss Baxter give great praise;
Rejoice and sing and dance with glee,
Because she has founded a College in Bonnie Dundee.

Therefore loudly in her praise sing,
And make Dundee with your voices ring,
And give honour to whom honour is due,
Because ladies like her are very few.

'Twas on the 5th day of October, in the year of 1883,
That the University College was opened in Dundee,
And the opening proceedings were conducted in the College Hall,
In the presence of ladies and gentlemen both great and small.

Worthy Provost Moncur presided over the meeting,
And received very great greeting;
And Professor Stuart made an eloquent speech there,
And also Lord Dalhousie, I do declare.

Also, the Right Hon W. E. Baxter was there on behalf of his aunt,
And acknowledged her beautiful portrait without any rant,
And said that she requested him to hand it over to the College,
As an incentive to others to teach the ignorant masses knowledge,

Success to Miss Baxter, and praise to the late Doctor Baxter, John Boyd,
For I think the Dundonians ought to feel overjoyed
For their munificent gifts to the town of Dundee,
Which will cause their names to be handed down to posterity.

The College is most handsome and magnificent to be seen,
And Dundee can now almost cope with Edinburgh or Aberdeen,
For the ladies of Dundee can now learn useful knowledge
By going to their own beautiful College.

I hope the ladies and gentlemen of Dundee will try and learn knowledge
At home in Dundee in their nice little College,
Because knowledge is sweeter than honey or jam,
Therefore let them try and gain knowledge as quick as they can.

It certainly is a great boon and an honour to Dundee
To have a College in our midst, which is most charming to see,
All through Miss Baxter and the late Dr Baxter, John Boyd,
Which I hope by the people of Dundee will long be enjoyed

Now since Miss Baxter has lived to see it erected,
I hope by the students she will long be respected
For establishing a College in Bonnie Dundee,
Where learning can be got of a very high degree.

[...] Read more

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Jennifer Ever

She always waits for someone
Someone who'll never leave
Reveiling her decision
Her arms cover me
My couple, no one
To anyone believe
She always waits for someone
Someone, someone just like me
Jennifer
Jennifer Ever
Jennifer
Jennifer always tells me
Please don't be afraid
I just want to hold you
I only want you to stay
My couple, no one
To anyone believe
She always waits for someone
Someone, someone just like me
Jennifer
Jennifer Ever
Jennifer
Jennifer
Jennifer Ever
Jennifer
My couple, no one
To anyone believe
She always waits for someone
Someone, someone just like me
Jennifer
Jennifer Ever
Jennifer

song performed by Smashing Pumpkins
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Cenci : A Tragedy In Five Acts

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Count Francesco Cenci.
Giacomo, his Son.
Bernardo, his Son.
Cardinal Camillo.
Orsino, a Prelate.
Savella, the Pope's Legate.
Olimpio, Assassin.
Marzio, Assassin.
Andrea, Servant to Cenci.
Nobles, Judges, Guards, Servants.
Lucretia, Wife of Cenci, and Step-mother of his children.
Beatrice, his Daughter.

The Scene lies principally in Rome, but changes during the Fourth Act to Petrella, a castle among the Apulian Apennines.
Time. During the Pontificate of Clement VIII.

ACT I

Scene I.
-An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Enter Count Cenci, and Cardinal Camillo.

Camillo.
That matter of the murder is hushed up
If you consent to yield his Holiness
Your fief that lies beyond the Pincian gate.-
It needed all my interest in the conclave
To bend him to this point: he said that you
Bought perilous impunity with your gold;
That crimes like yours if once or twice compounded
Enriched the Church, and respited from hell
An erring soul which might repent and live:-
But that the glory and the interest
Of the high throne he fills, little consist
With making it a daily mart of guilt
As manifold and hideous as the deeds
Which you scarce hide from men's revolted eyes.

Cenci.
The third of my possessions-let it go!
Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Pope
Had sent his architect to view the ground,
Meaning to build a villa on my vines
The next time I compounded with his uncle:
I little thought he should outwit me so!

[...] Read more

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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In Pursuit of the Poetic Soul of Ryan Adams

In Pursuit of the Poetic Soul of Ryan Adams

By Uriah Lee Hamilton

Last day of summer, football Saturday afternoon. A Warm breeze was pushing me toward Ann Arbor like a happy autumn leaf in pursuit of the beautiful poetic soul of Ryan Adams. Lovely charming mood all the way playing Easy Tiger and Demolition and feeling like the universe was kind and smiling.
Exit off 94 West onto State Street and all excited to make my way to Liberty Street and the heart of the College town I love. Kids were milling around everywhere in their gold and blue, gleeful and happy that Michigan is now playing 500 football after a discouraging start. Parking spaces across the street from Michigan Theater in the parking structure are all taken, I have to drive to the roof and still wait for a football fan to leave.
Me and my friend Cassandra start walking around and dig everything and everyone we see. Ann Arbor brings out your gentle Jack Kerouac nature, the part of you that wants to praise everything for it’s sad but beautiful, integral purpose to this existence.
We enter an Eastern clothing and folk art store that is positively charming and enlightening. I can’t remember the name of the store. Perhaps, it is called the Enchanted Sarong. It almost felt like George Harrison was there with us, beautiful carved statues of Buddha and Krishna and Ganesha were everywhere. The sales lady was friendly and helpful and said sweetly, “we’re Om friendly” as we asked about carved symbols for the breath-word Om. The serene incense Nag Champa drifted through the room but it was now time to leave and make our way to the Ryan Adams concert at Michigan Theater.
I purchased my tickets the very minute they went on sale and prayed I had front row despite my tickets saying double A. No Such luck, but I was still happy to be in row 27. As I was waiting for the show to begin, I saw my concert friend Jeremy and got his attention. He looked as happy and as excited as myself and said he had spent a fortune at some cool record store. Jeremy then handed me a beautiful soundboard copy of Ryan Adams at the Gem Theater in downtown Detroit June 20th 2007. Man, how I’ve been longing for that show! I then gave Jeremy a copy of Ryan’s punk rock band the Finger.
Now the lights go out and the music begins. Ryan Opens with Goodnight Rose and closes with Goodnight Hollywood Boulevard. Everything in-between is just magical. The first auspicious sign was that Ryan came out playing guitar! ! In June, he only sang, he didn’t play any instruments, some injury sidelined him. The June Show as a result was more subtle, almost like MTV Unplugged. Subtle but amazing. Last night was more rocking and adventurous with reworked extended arrangements, ala the Grateful Dead. In particular was a long and lovely version of Off Broadway from Easy Tiger. At the completion of Off Broadway, I shouted, “That was gorgeous! ” Of course, I may have added an expletive, all in the interest of ecstatic joy for music.
Ryan told a story during the show about running into a girl on her way to the concert that didn’t recognize him because he dresses like a plumber. My friend after the show said she thought she saw Ryan Adams on the street near the theater. I asked, “Really? ” She said, “I saw someone that looked like a plumber.” I can say, I didn’t see Ryan on the streets anywhere in Ann Arbor yesterday, but I have been known to miss a plumber or two in my day.
The first two songs in the encore made the whole show for me. Ryan came out by himself with an acoustic guitar and sang Call Me On Your Way Back Home. Toward the end of the song, Ryan played harmonica and I screamed like a schoolgirl, pretty much the way I do whenever Bobby Dylan plays harmonica! And if that wasn’t enough to make the end of summer completely magical, Ryan then sat down at the piano and sang Sylvia Plath: Oh my God, the point of tears! I’ve waited six years to hear him sing that song live from the Album Gold. As I told my friend, that was the song that sealed the deal making Ryan Adams my modern hero! If you want to get my attention and loyalty, sing about one of the tragic poets I love.

poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Hold You Down

JENNIFER LOPEZ LYRICS
"Hold You Down"
(feat. Fat Joe)
[Verse 1]
[Jennifer:]
Now you've been holding me down
For such a long time now
From back then
To now in my story
Straight from the hood
You've always been there for me
And ya had my back
(When they) Back when everybody said
I wasn't anything
It was you who had me holdin' on
No matter what was goin' on
So no whatever ya need I got you
[Fat Joe:]
Reminiscing that 6 train from way back
Now its sky blue phantoms and stretch may backs
Sweepin' them floors in them Bronx apartments
Mira esta que on that red carpet
With Pun and Ja you was the first to call me
I never told you but you was there for me
Whatever you need, I'll be there for you
Crack - I got ya back for real (True story)
[Bridge]
[Jennifer:]
Now my loyalty, will always be
With you, if you just promise me
That you'll stay real just like you are
'Cause baby you don't have to change (no)
[Chorus]
[Jennifer:]
You don't know how much you mean to me
Whenever you down
You know that you can lean on me
No matter the situation
Boy, I'm gon' hold you down
[Fat Joe:]
You don't know how much you mean to me
Whenever you down
You know that you can lean on me
No matter the situation
Girl, I'm gon' hold you down
[Verse 2]
[Fat Joe:]
2005 Rakim and Jody Watley
Why'd she paint such a picture so perfect
Quite possibly

[...] Read more

song performed by Jennifer Lopez
Added by Lucian Velea
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Canto the Ninth

I
Oh, Wellington! (or "Villainton" -- for Fame
Sounds the heroic syllables both ways;
France could not even conquer your great name,
But punn'd it down to this facetious phrase --
Beating or beaten she will laugh the same),
You have obtain'd great pensions and much praise:
Glory like yours should any dare gainsay,
Humanity would rise, and thunder "Nay!"

II
I don't think that you used Kinnaird quite well
In Marinet's affair -- in fact, 't was shabby,
And like some other things won't do to tell
Upon your tomb in Westminster's old abbey.
Upon the rest 't is not worth while to dwell,
Such tales being for the tea-hours of some tabby;
But though your years as man tend fast to zero,
In fact your grace is still but a young hero.

III
Though Britain owes (and pays you too) so much,
Yet Europe doubtless owes you greatly more:
You have repair'd Legitimacy's crutch,
A prop not quite so certain as before:
The Spanish, and the French, as well as Dutch,
Have seen, and felt, how strongly you restore;
And Waterloo has made the world your debtor
(I wish your bards would sing it rather better).

IV
You are "the best of cut-throats:" -- do not start;
The phrase is Shakspeare's, and not misapplied:
War's a brain-spattering, windpipe-slitting art,
Unless her cause by right be sanctified.
If you have acted once a generous part,
The world, not the world's masters, will decide,
And I shall be delighted to learn who,
Save you and yours, have gain'd by Waterloo?

V
I am no flatterer -- you've supp'd full of flattery:
They say you like it too -- 't is no great wonder.
He whose whole life has been assault and battery,
At last may get a little tired of thunder;
And swallowing eulogy much more than satire, he
May like being praised for every lucky blunder,
Call'd "Saviour of the Nations" -- not yet saved,
And "Europe's Liberator" -- still enslaved.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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Don Juan: Canto The Ninth

Oh, Wellington! (or 'Villainton'--for Fame
Sounds the heroic syllables both ways;
France could not even conquer your great name,
But punn'd it down to this facetious phrase-
Beating or beaten she will laugh the same),
You have obtain'd great pensions and much praise:
Glory like yours should any dare gainsay,
Humanity would rise, and thunder 'Nay!'

I don't think that you used Kinnaird quite well
In Marinet's affair--in fact, 'twas shabby,
And like some other things won't do to tell
Upon your tomb in Westminster's old abbey.
Upon the rest 'tis not worth while to dwell,
Such tales being for the tea-hours of some tabby;
But though your years as man tend fast to zero,
In fact your grace is still but a young hero.

Though Britain owes (and pays you too) so much,
Yet Europe doubtless owes you greatly more:
You have repair'd Legitimacy's crutch,
A prop not quite so certain as before:
The Spanish, and the French, as well as Dutch,
Have seen, and felt, how strongly you restore;
And Waterloo has made the world your debtor
(I wish your bards would sing it rather better).

You are 'the best of cut-throats:'--do not start;
The phrase is Shakspeare's, and not misapplied:
War's a brain-spattering, windpipe-slitting art,
Unless her cause by right be sanctified.
If you have acted once a generous part,
The world, not the world's masters, will decide,
And I shall be delighted to learn who,
Save you and yours, have gain'd by Waterloo?

I am no flatterer- you 've supp'd full of flattery:
They say you like it too- 't is no great wonder.
He whose whole life has been assault and battery,
At last may get a little tired of thunder;
And swallowing eulogy much more than satire, he
May like being praised for every lucky blunder,
Call'd 'Saviour of the Nations'--not yet saved,
And 'Europe's Liberator'--still enslaved.

I've done. Now go and dine from off the plate
Presented by the Prince of the Brazils,
And send the sentinel before your gate
A slice or two from your luxurious meals:
He fought, but has not fed so well of late.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Conroy's Gap

This was the way of it, don't you know --
Ryan was "wanted" for stealing sheep,
And never a trooper, high or low,
Could find him -- catch a weasel asleep!
Till Trooper Scott, from the Stockman's Ford --
A bushman, too, as I've heard them tell --
Chanced to find him drunk as a lord
Round at the Shadow of Death Hotel.
D'you know the place? It's a wayside inn,
A low grog-shanty -- a bushman trap,
Hiding away in its shame and sin
Under the shelter of Conroy's Gap --
Under the shade of that frowning range
The roughest crowd that ever drew breath --
Thieves and rowdies, uncouth and strange,
Were mustered round at the "Shadow of Death".

The trooper knew that his man would slide
Like a dingo pup, if he saw the chance;
And with half a start on the mountain side
Ryan would lead him a merry dance.
Drunk as he was when the trooper came,
to him that did not matter a rap --
Drunk or sober, he was the same,
The boldest rider in Conroy's Gap.

"I want you, Ryan," the trooper said,
"And listen to me, if you dare resist,
So help me heaven, I'll shoot you dead!"
He snapped the steel on his prisoner's wrist,
And Ryan, hearing the handcuffs click,
Recovered his wits as they turned to go,
For fright will sober a man as quick
As all the drugs that the doctors know.

There was a girl in that shanty bar
Went by the name of Kate Carew,
Quiet and shy as the bush girls are,
But ready-witted and plucky, too.
She loved this Ryan, or so they say,
And passing by, while her eyes were dim
With tears, she said in a careless way,
"The Swagman's round in the stable, Jim."

Spoken too low for the trooper's ear,
Why should she care if he heard or not?
Plenty of swagmen far and near --
And yet to Ryan it meant a lot.
That was the name of the grandest horse
In all the district from east to west;

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Solving Mysteries

SOLVING MYSTERIES

Deep mysteries may be solved by analytic clarities,
but then dissolve as you dismantle their disparities,
their solution, if not leading to their dissolution,
depleting them of mystery which has suffered diminution.

Andrew Miller, whose latest novel Pure is about to be published, reviews Peter Carey's The Chemistry of Tears (NYTBR,5/27/10) :

In Peter Carey's 12th novel, much depends on two voices. The first belongs to Catherine Gehrig, an horologist working at the (fictional) Swinburne Museum in London. We join her — she begins to speak to us — at the very moment she learns of the sudden death of her lover, Matthew Tindall, Head Curator of Metals at the same institution. For 13 years, Catherine has been Tindall's mistress. He was older, married, a father, but the pair of them lived a blissful, secret life together. Now Tindall is gone — felled by a heart attack on the Underground — and gone with him, in Catherine's mind, is all good, all possibility of happiness….
Her boss gives her a project, which involves reading a pile of antique notebooks:
The notebooks introduce us to the novel's second voice, that of a wealthy mid-19th-century Englishman, Henry Brandling. As a voice, a narrator, Henry is not, at least at the start, much easier to be with than Catherine. He is fulsome, sentimental, the doting father of an ailing son, a boy whom Henry's wife, still mourning the death of another child, will neither nurse nor comfort. Henry seeks to keep the boy alive by continually exciting his interest in the world, but each success is temporary, and the next focus of interest, of enchantment, must always be more thrilling. So he decides to commission the building of an automaton, and not just any old automaton but a duck — he has seen a picture of it somewhere — that will eat grain, apparently digest it and then, with a whirring of springs, excrete the residue. To get it made he travels to Germany, to the Black Forest, and to the "mighty race of clockmakers" who live there. The notebooks are the journal of his travels, his search for a master technician.
Catherine, reading in the annex or (breaking all museum protocols) at home in her flat, calls Henry's narrative "intriguing, " but the diaries are often dense, awkward to read, somewhat dull. There is at first a type of comedy — the bumptious Englishman abroad, continually misunderstood by or misunderstanding his hosts. But then the tone darkens and takes on the feel of a fairy story by the Brothers Grimm, or something out of those monstrous cautionary tales in Hoffmann's "Straw Peter."
Henry finds his master clockmaker, a large, physically threatening man called Sumper, but Sumper isn't interested in a fecal duck. He has something much grander in mind for Henry and his son, and he teases Henry, torments him, hinting at mechanical wonders of an order the Englishman has not the wit to imagine. He recounts his adventures in Queen Victoria's England, where he worked as assistant to an inventor called Cruickshank, a character clearly modeled on the great Charles Babbage (whose prototype computer, the Difference Engine, has been reconstructed at the Science Museum in London) .
It is here, perhaps, in the watchmaker's hallucinogenic parable, that we come to what Carey is playing with in this novel: the illusory versus the actual, the mechanical versus the organic. The gap, if any, between that which, in its complexity, imitates life, and that which is living and may possess something else, something that isn't simply part of the works. A soul! Carey, of course, isn't going to come down on one side or the other of this venerable debate. Instead, he puts into the mouth of Catherine's boss the still persuasive Romantic plea for ambiguity, for the power and beauty of mysteries, for defending these from "analytical clarities." The closing scenes, in which Catherine and her young assistant finally recreate what Henry Brandling brought back from the forest, are among the best in the book, and the moment when it — the not-a-duck — is set in motion is thrilling.

5/28/12 #10340

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Madelaine Mann

'Pass me my pearl handled brush, and my comb, '
She had said, as she gazed at the glass,
The child had obeyed, though he shuffled and moaned
As he pulled at his pretty pink dress.
'Be still with you, child! Learn some patience and grace,
Wipe that scowl off your face - do you hear?
Just be a good girl, and I'll powder your face,
Tie ribbons up high in your hair.'

The boy bit his lip, and he stared at his aunt
In the mirror; she simpered and smiled,
Her lips were so thin and so twisted in sin
Though she thought she was beauty, beguiled.
The eyes were so close, and were hooded and dark,
The cheeks were both sallow and thin,
'A little more rouge - there we are! Is your aunt
The most beautiful creature you've seen? '

The boy nodded then, as he knew he must do
If he wouldn't be beaten and sore,
The lash of her cane had left scars in his brain
And he just couldn't take any more.
His mother had died when her sister denied her
A telephone call in the night,
She'd wanted to call out an ambulance then,
But her sister said: 'You'll be all right! '

She died the next morning, and Madelaine Mann
Had dug a large hole by the tree,
She buried her sister there, in the moonlight,
Leaving Andrew, who wasn't quite three.
They lived in the country, so nobody knew
What went on in that foul looking den,
And Andrew became little Andrea soon,
Because Madelaine Mann hated men.

He grew up confused as he followed her rules
But he always knew something was wrong,
He pulled all the heads off the dolls as he played
And his voice couldn't carry a song.
She'd beat him whenever his needlework strayed
Showing great ugly stitches and knots,
But his mind wandered out where the mud puddles lay,
And that patch of forget-me-nots.

Those precious blue flowers grew under the tree
Where her sister lay, cold in the ground,
She'd smile as she passed them, her own little joke
As she turned the son's gender around;
But Andrew, he sat and he picked at the flowers

[...] Read more

poem by David Lewis Paget
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Sara

I use to wait for this sun
that would never shine
I could'nt wait for the night
that would never come
to end, yet, another lonely day

Where their was nobody to hold
nobody to kiss tonight
prayed I'd never close my eyes
as everything seemed to unfold
with a heart growing so cold
never thought I'd feel like this

Sara, then you came along
these feeling's of you got so strong
and I could'nt control what I feel

If I could just lay down to sleep
just to dream for awhile
your love, I would hold tight
in every dream I told
through every endless mile

Sara, it just felt so right
you love, just seemed so real
in a world that only tells lies
where their was'nt even a dream
or a love to keep

And in every single hour
that I sit and watch pass
your beauty is like a flower
in fields of grass
where I look for you there

Sara, I feel you were the one for me
to break these chains of misery
that keeps me chained to this wall
where nothing seems to gleam

Sara, I know this comes as a surprise
but I think we were meant to be
we can set each other free
I'll catch you when you start to fall

I traveled down such a empty highway
I was'nt there looking for something new
but I never thought you would look my way
and here you are with me
now I can't help this love I have for you

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poem by Spiritwind Wood
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The King's Tragedy James I. Of Scots.—20th February 1437

I Catherine am a Douglas born,
A name to all Scots dear;
And Kate Barlass they've called me now
Through many a waning year.
This old arm's withered now. 'Twas once
Most deft 'mong maidens all
To rein the steed, to wing the shaft,
To smite the palm-play ball.
In hall adown the close-linked dance
It has shone most white and fair;
It has been the rest for a true lord's head,
And many a sweet babe's nursing-bed,
And the bar to a King's chambère.
Aye, lasses, draw round Kate Barlass,
And hark with bated breath
How good King James, King Robert's son,
Was foully done to death.
Through all the days of his gallant youth
The princely James was pent,
By his friends at first and then by his foes,
In long imprisonment.
For the elder Prince, the kingdom's heir,
By treason's murderous brood
Was slain; and the father quaked for the child
With the royal mortal blood.
I' the Bass Rock fort, by his father's care,
Was his childhood's life assured;
And Henry the subtle Bolingbroke,
Proud England's King, 'neath the southron yoke
His youth for long years immured.
Yet in all things meet for a kingly man
Himself did he approve;
And the nightingale through his prison-wall
Taught him both lore and love.
For once, when the bird's song drew him close
To the opened window-pane,
In her bower beneath a lady stood,
A light of life to his sorrowful mood,
Like a lily amid the rain.
And for her sake, to the sweet bird's note,
He framed a sweeter Song,
More sweet than ever a poet's heart
Gave yet to the English tongue.
She was a lady of royal blood;
And when, past sorrow and teen,
He stood where still through his crownless years
His Scotish realm had been,
At Scone were the happy lovers crowned,
A heart-wed King and Queen.
But the bird may fall from the bough of youth,

[...] Read more

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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On Receiving A Letter From Marie

I wrote to the Sullivan family on the death of family member Catherine it seemed for me the proper thing to do
They were my friends and neighbours when I lived in Millstreet and to our old friends we must remain true
I was not expecting a letter in return and it came as a big surprise to me
When I received a letter from Catherine's elder sister Marie she now is Mrs Cregan from Tralee.

Marie from Claraghatlea one I remember her shiny wavy hair was chestnut brown
A cheerful and a very friendly person one of the nicest west of Millstreet Town
A warm hearted and a charming lady she always greeted with a big smile and hello
And hearing from her in her time of sorrow brought back the memories of long ago.

When she and Catherine and their younger brother James were going to school in Millstreet all three I recall were younger than I
Those were the happiest days that I remember but on looking back the years just seemed to fly
And our youthful Seasons for us went too quickly and the lust for wander carried us away
From Duhallow and the meadows west of Millstreet where in Summer weather we made cocks of hay.

She told me in her letter how she grieves for her sister Catherine they always were a close knit family
Our crosses to bear can sometimes prove quite heavy and how sad so very sad this life can be?
But time as we know is the greatest healer and though the pain of loss to heal may seem quite slow
As time goes by from her grief she will recover and her ache of loss from her eventually will go.

A surprise letter from Marie for to thank me for sympathy in writing I'd expressed at a family loss
The passing of Catherine at a young age tragic and on the family such a heavy cross
For Catherine her suffering is over though she did not live on to grow old and gray
And for Marie grieving for her beloved sister the ache of loss in time will fade away.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Jennifer Eccles

The Hollies
Jennifer Eccles
(Allan Clarke/Tony Hicks/Graham Nash)
Single release 1968
White chalk, written on red brick
Our love, told in a heart
It's there, drawn in the playground
Love, kiss, hate or adore
I love Jennifer Eccles (whistle)
I know that she loves me
I love Jennifer Eccles (whistle)
I know that she loves me
La laa la la la la laa
La laa la la la laa
La laa la la la la laa
La laa la la la laa
I used to carry her satchels
She used to walk by my side
But when we got to her doorstep
Her dad wouldn't let me inside
One Monday morning,
found out I'd made the grade
Started me thinking,
had she done the same?
{Guitar interlude with the La-laas}
One Monday morning,
found out I'd made the grade
Started me thinking,
had she done the same?
I hope Jennifer Eccles (whistle)
Is going to follow me there
Our love is bound to continue
Love, kiss, hate or adore
Singing
I love Jennifer Eccles (whistle)
I know that she loves me
I love Jennifer Eccles (whistle)
I know that she loves me
{fadeout}
La laa la la la la laa
La laa la la la laa
La laa,,,

song performed by Hollies
Added by Lucian Velea
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