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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 12 of 12. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by Phil on August 15, 2002, at 22:50:02
He wants to dream like a young man
With the wisdom of an old man
He wants his home and security
He wants to live like a sailor at sea...
Beautiful loser, where you gonna fall?
When you realize you just don't need it allOh...
He's your oldest and your best friend
If you need him, he'll be there again...
He's always willing to be second best
A perfect lodger, a perfect guest...
Beautiful loser, read it on the wall...
And realize you just don't need it all
Hey, you just don't need it all...
You don't need it all
Oh...don't need it all...
Hey, you can try but you can't have it all
Oh, no no
Oh...He'll never make any enemies, enemies
Yeah, he won't complain if he's caught on his knees, no
He'll always ask, he'll always say please...Ooh...
Beautiful loser, never take it all
'Cause it's easier and faster when you fall
Ah...you just don't need it all...
Oh...you just don't need it allYou just don't need it all...
Posted by shar on August 16, 2002, at 1:16:28
In reply to ?, posted by Phil on August 15, 2002, at 22:50:02
what is the 'it' he doesn't need all of? (this is me, remember...not a poetic bone in my body, ceptin maybe my wishbone)
ok, that reminds me of a song in the early 70's about a man who lived a quiet life in england I think, and in my college english class we were studying it...the last line was he went home and put a bullet through his brain or his head. He was for all intents and purposes a successful person...from the outside. I think his first name was Edward. It was sort of about a life of quiet desperation.
So, now that I've given that totally awful description from my already failing memory....does that song ring a bell with you? It may have been by Simon and Garfunkel. (Once in an interview they said they thought about naming their first album "so young, yet so full of pain" j/k of course.)
Shar
Posted by Phil on August 16, 2002, at 6:49:20
In reply to Re: ? » Phil, posted by shar on August 16, 2002, at 1:16:28
All is: Money, chicks, booze
Or: You just don't need all the bs, like life.Internet's great for lyrics.
Posted by Mashogr8 on August 16, 2002, at 11:21:12
In reply to Re: ?, posted by Phil on August 16, 2002, at 6:49:20
It was S & G. "He was a most peculiar man". Everyonce in a while I feel like that man. No one knows anything for sure about me. I could go home and put a bullet in my head and people would just note that I "died last Saturday" and "was always hiding in my room". It's a bad song for me to listen to when I'm really down as I realize how little we know about each other. Makes for a very lonely world.
MA
Posted by Phil on August 16, 2002, at 12:15:59
In reply to Re: the song, posted by Mashogr8 on August 16, 2002, at 11:21:12
Posted by OddipusRex on August 16, 2002, at 12:41:05
In reply to Re: ? » Phil, posted by shar on August 16, 2002, at 1:16:28
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 placeSo 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.
~~~~~~
The poem was Richard Corey by Edward Arlington Robinson. I think the song by S and G was based on it.
Posted by OddipusRex on August 16, 2002, at 12:49:21
In reply to Re: the poem Richard Corey » shar, posted by OddipusRex on August 16, 2002, at 12:41:05
Here are the Paul Simon lyrics. I remember studying that poem in English class too and the teacher bringing in the song.
A Most Peculiar Man
He was a most peculiar man
That's what Mrs. Rearson says
and she should know
She lived upstairs from him
A most peculiar manHe was a most peculiar man
He lived alone within his house
Within his room, within himself
A most peculiar manHe had no friends he seldom spoke
And no one in turn ever spoke to him
'Cause he wasn't friendly and he didn't care
And he wasn't like them
A most peculiar manHe died last Saturday
He turned on the gas and he went to sleep
And never wake up
To a silent world and a tiny room
And Mrs Reardon says he has a brother somewhere
Who should be notified soonAnd all the people said
What a shame that he's dead
But wasn't he a most peculiar manRICHARD COREY
They say that Richard Corey
Owns one half of this whole town
With political connections
To spread his wealth aroundHE WAS Born into society
A banker's only CHILD
He has everything a man could want
Power grace and styleBut 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
Yes I wish that I could be
Richard CoreyThe papers print his picture
Almost everywhere he goes
Richard Corey at the opera
Richard Corey at a showAnd the rumours of his parties
And the orgies on his yacht
He surely must be happy
With everything he's gotBUT I work....Richard Corey
He really gave to charity
He HAD THE COMMON TOUCH
They were grateful for his patronage
And they thanked him very muchSo my mind was filled with wonder
When the evening headlines read
Richard Corey went home tonight
And shot a bullet through his headBUT I work....Richard Corey
~~~~~~~~~~~~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.
> ~~~~~~
> The poem was Richard Corey by Edward Arlington Robinson. I think the song by S and G was based on it.
Posted by shar on August 16, 2002, at 14:20:39
In reply to Re: Paul Simon lyrics, posted by OddipusRex on August 16, 2002, at 12:49:21
Yes, that's it. We did read the poem and the song at the same time, too. I had forgotten that.
I never forgot the song/poem part about quietly blowing one's brains out. that's pretty much me.
Shar
Posted by Dinah on August 16, 2002, at 14:46:14
In reply to Re: the poem Richard Corey » shar, posted by OddipusRex on August 16, 2002, at 12:41:05
Well, except for the slim, rich, etc.
Posted by mashogr8 on August 16, 2002, at 15:28:00
In reply to Re: the song, posted by Mashogr8 on August 16, 2002, at 11:21:12
Naturally I got Richard C. and Mrs Reardon's neighbor mixed up. At least, I kept Elinor Rigby out of the mess. All those lonely people where do they come from and why don't we know them?
MA
Posted by Mr Beev on August 16, 2002, at 17:00:06
In reply to Re: Paul Simon lyrics » OddipusRex, posted by shar on August 16, 2002, at 14:20:39
Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would set him dancing.Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam's neighbors.Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the medieval grace
Of iron clothing.Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.Minver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.
Posted by OddipusRex on August 19, 2002, at 14:05:32
In reply to Re: another cheerful one from E.A. Robinson, posted by Mr Beev on August 16, 2002, at 17:00:06
Thanks for posting that. I thought and thought and thought and thought about it! I feel like I was born in the wrong time myself.
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