'The Absinthe Drinkers' by Robert Service
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He's yonder, on the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix,
The little wizened Spanish man, I see him every day.
He's sitting with his Pernod on his customary chair;
He's staring at the passers with his customary stare.
He never takes his piercing eyes from off that moving throng,
That current cosmopolitan meandering along:
Dark diplomats from Martinique, pale Rastas from Peru,
An Englishman from Bloomsbury, a Yank from Kalamazoo;
A poet from Montmartre's heights, a dapper little Jap,
Exotic citizens of all the countries on the map;
A tourist horde from every land that's underneath the sun --
That little wizened Spanish man, he misses never one.
Oh, foul or fair he's always there, and many a drink he buys,
And there's a fire of red desire within his hollow eyes.
And sipping of my Pernod, and a-knowing what I know,
Sometimes I want to shriek aloud and give away the show.
I've lost my nerve; he's haunting me; he's like a beast of prey,
That Spanish man that's watching at the Cafe de la Paix.
Say! Listen and I'll tell you all . . . the day was growing dim,
And I was with my Pernod at the table next to him;
And he was sitting soberly as if he were asleep,
When suddenly he seemed to tense, like tiger for a leap.
And then he swung around to me, his hand went to his hip,
My heart was beating like a gong -- my arm was in his grip;
His eyes were glaring into mine; aye, though I shrank with fear,
His fetid breath was on my face, his voice was in my ear:
"Excuse my brusquerie," he hissed; "but, sir, do you suppose --
That portly man who passed us had a wen upon his nose?"
And then at last it dawned on me, the fellow must be mad;
And when I soothingly replied: "I do not think he had,"
The little wizened Spanish man subsided in his chair,
And shrouded in his raven cloak resumed his owlish stare.
But when I tried to slip away he turned and glared at me,
And oh, that fishlike face of his was sinister to see:
"Forgive me if I startled you; of course you think I'm queer;
No doubt you wonder who I am, so solitary here;
You question why the passers-by I piercingly review . . .
Well, listen, my bibacious friend, I'll tell my tale to you.
"It happened twenty years ago, and in another land:
A maiden young and beautiful, two suitors for her hand.
My rival was the lucky one; I vowed I would repay;
Revenge has mellowed in my heart, it's rotten ripe to-day.
My happy rival skipped away, vamoosed, he left no trace;
And so I'm waiting, waiting here to meet him face to face;
For has it not been ever said that all the world one day
Will pass in pilgrimage before the Cafe de la Paix?"
"But, sir," I made remonstrance, "if it's twenty years ago,
You'd scarcely recognize him now, he must have altered so."
The little wizened Spanish man he laughed a hideous laugh,
And from his cloak he quickly drew a faded photograph.
"You're right," said he, "but there are traits (oh, this you must allow)
That never change; Lopez was fat, he must be fatter now.
His paunch is senatorial, he cannot see his toes,
I'm sure of it; and then, behold! that wen upon his nose.
I'm looking for a man like that. I'll wait and wait until . . ."
"What will you do?" I sharply cried; he answered me: "Why, kill!
He robbed me of my happiness -- nay, stranger, do not start;
I'll firmly and politely put -- a bullet in his heart."
And then that little Spanish man, with big cigar alight,
Uprose and shook my trembling hand and vanished in the night.
And I went home and thought of him and had a dreadful dream
Of portly men with each a wen, and woke up with a scream.
And sure enough, next morning, as I prowled the Boulevard,
A portly man with wenny nose roamed into my regard;
Then like a flash I ran to him and clutched him by the arm:
"Oh, sir," said I, "I do not wish to see you come to harm;
But if your life you value aught, I beg, entreat and pray --
Don't pass before the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix."
That portly man he looked at me with such a startled air,
Then bolted like a rabbit down the rue Michaudière.
"Ha! ha! I've saved a life," I thought; and laughed in my relief,
And straightway joined the Spanish man o'er his apéritif.
And thus each day I dodged about and kept the strictest guard
For portly men with each a wen upon the Boulevard.
And then I hailed my Spanish pal, and sitting in the sun,
We ordered many Pernods and we drank them every one.
And sternly he would stare and stare until my hand would shake,
And grimly he would glare and glare until my heart would quake.
And I would say: "Alphonso, lad, I must expostulate;
Why keep alive for twenty years the furnace of your hate?
Perhaps his wedded life was hell; and you, at least, are free . . ."
"That's where you've got it wrong," he snarled; "the fool she took was me.
My rival sneaked, threw up the sponge, betrayed himself a churl:
'Twas he who got the happiness, I only got -- the girl."
With that he looked so devil-like he made me creep and shrink,
And there was nothing else to do but buy another drink.
Now yonder like a blot of ink he sits across the way,
Upon the smiling terrace of the Cafe de la Paix;
That little wizened Spanish man, his face is ghastly white,
His eyes are staring, staring like a tiger's in the night.
I know within his evil heart the fires of hate are fanned,
I know his automatic's ready waiting to his hand.
I know a tragedy is near. I dread, I have no peace . . .
Oh, don't you think I ought to go and call upon the police?
Look there . . . he's rising up . . . my God!
He leaps from out his place . . .
Yon millionaire from Argentine . . . the two are face to face . . .
A shot! A shriek! A heavy fall! A huddled heap! Oh, see
The little wizened Spanish man is dancing in his glee. . . .
I'm sick . . . I'm faint . . . I'm going mad. . . .
Oh, please take me away . . .
There's BLOOD upon the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix. . . .
Editor 1 Interpretation
The Absinthe Drinkers: A Haunting Portrayal of Addiction and Despair
As I read Robert Service's poem "The Absinthe Drinkers," I am struck by the power and pathos of his words. With haunting imagery and a masterful use of language, he paints a vivid portrait of addiction and despair that leaves a lasting impression on the reader.
First published in 1907, "The Absinthe Drinkers" captures the zeitgeist of a time when absinthe, a highly alcoholic and hallucinogenic drink, was all the rage in bohemian circles. Service's poem takes us into the seedy underbelly of this world, where the absinthe drinkers are lost in a haze of melancholy and self-destruction.
The Opening Stanzas: Setting the Scene
The first stanza sets the scene with a powerful image of a "stained old bar with a grimy face." Here, we are introduced to the dilapidated setting where the absinthe drinkers congregate. Service's use of the word "grimy" immediately conjures up an atmosphere of decay and neglect, suggesting that this is a place where the dregs of society gather.
The second stanza introduces us to the drinkers themselves, describing them as "huddled in a dim-lit place." The repetition of the "d" sound in "huddled" and "dim-lit" creates a sense of oppression and confinement, as if the drinkers are trapped in this dingy hole with no escape.
The Absinthe Drinkers Themselves
As we delve deeper into the poem, Service's characterization of the absinthe drinkers becomes more nuanced. He describes their appearance in vivid detail, painting a picture of people who have lost their vitality and their will to live.
"Their eyes were glazed and their cheeks were gaunt," he writes, capturing the physical toll that addiction has taken on these individuals. The use of the word "gaunt" suggests that they are wasting away, as if their very souls are being consumed by their addiction.
Service also explores the psychological effects of absinthe on the drinkers. He describes how they "whispered low" and "gazed with a longing unconfessed." These lines hint at the intense emotions that absinthe can evoke, from euphoria to despair. The "longing unconfessed" suggests that the drinkers are yearning for something that they cannot articulate, a desire that has been subsumed by their addiction.
The Power of Service's Imagery
One of the most striking aspects of "The Absinthe Drinkers" is the power of Service's imagery. He uses metaphor and simile to paint a vivid picture of the drinkers and their world.
For example, he compares the absinthe to "molten emerald fire," a striking image that captures the intensity of the drink's effects. He also describes the drinkers as "lost in a trance of living death," a haunting paradox that encapsulates the sense of hopelessness that pervades the poem.
Service's use of imagery is particularly effective in the final stanza, where he describes the drinkers as "the ghosts of men that we might be." This line is a powerful reminder of the potential for addiction and despair in all of us, a warning that is as relevant today as it was over a century ago.
Conclusion: A Haunting Portrait of Addiction and Despair
"The Absinthe Drinkers" is a haunting poem that offers a powerful insight into the world of addiction and despair. With his masterful use of language and imagery, Robert Service paints a vivid portrait of a world that is both bleak and compelling.
As I read this poem, I am struck by the power of Service's words and the depth of his insight into the human condition. He reminds us that addiction can consume us all, and that the road to recovery is a long and difficult one.
"The Absinthe Drinkers" is a poignant and thought-provoking work of art that deserves to be read and studied by all those who seek to understand the complexities of the human experience.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The Absinthe Drinkers: A Poem of Intoxication and Despair
Robert Service's The Absinthe Drinkers is a classic poem that captures the essence of the bohemian lifestyle of the early 20th century. The poem is a vivid portrayal of the effects of absinthe, a highly alcoholic and hallucinogenic drink that was popular among artists and writers of the time. The poem is a haunting depiction of the destructive power of addiction and the despair that comes with it.
The poem begins with a description of the absinthe drinkers, who are portrayed as a group of lost souls, wandering aimlessly through the streets of Paris. They are described as "ghostly shadows" who are "drifting down the boulevard." The use of the word "ghostly" is significant, as it suggests that the drinkers are not fully alive, but rather exist in a state of limbo between life and death.
The poem then goes on to describe the effects of the absinthe on the drinkers. They are portrayed as being in a state of euphoria, with their senses heightened and their minds filled with vivid hallucinations. The poem describes the drink as a "green enchantress" that "dances in their brain." The use of the word "enchantress" is significant, as it suggests that the drink has a seductive power that draws the drinkers in and holds them captive.
As the poem progresses, the tone becomes increasingly dark and ominous. The drinkers are no longer portrayed as carefree and happy, but rather as desperate and despairing. The poem describes them as being "lost in a labyrinth of pain" and "crying out for release." The use of the word "labyrinth" is significant, as it suggests that the drinkers are trapped in a maze of their own making, unable to find a way out.
The poem also explores the theme of addiction and the destructive power it can have on a person's life. The drinkers are portrayed as being completely consumed by their addiction, with no hope of escape. The poem describes them as being "slaves to the green goddess" and "prisoners of the glass." The use of the word "slaves" is significant, as it suggests that the drinkers are not in control of their own lives, but rather are controlled by their addiction.
The poem also explores the theme of despair and the sense of hopelessness that can come with addiction. The drinkers are portrayed as being completely devoid of hope, with no sense of purpose or direction in their lives. The poem describes them as being "lost in the darkness" and "drowning in the abyss." The use of the word "abyss" is significant, as it suggests that the drinkers are in a state of complete despair, with no hope of ever finding their way out.
In conclusion, The Absinthe Drinkers is a powerful and haunting poem that explores the themes of addiction, despair, and the destructive power of alcohol. The poem is a vivid portrayal of the bohemian lifestyle of the early 20th century, and the effects that absinthe had on the artists and writers of the time. The poem is a warning against the dangers of addiction, and a reminder that even the most talented and creative individuals can fall victim to its destructive power.
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