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Eclipsed

 

 

 

 

Confessions of an English Opium Eater

Thomas de Quencey (Died 1859)

Poetic Writer of Contemporary Prose 

      

 

 “As when some great painter dips
His pencil in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse.”

 

I too, was masterfully viewed; and eagerly seduced.

Born in the year of 1785; at the age of twenty eight I

made a most fatal mistake. 

I am a confessed english opium eater, distinguished scholar,

highly educated; and deviant survivor of life.

 

An artistic shadow filled with illuminating prose.

Stringently molded, eloquently sculpted, crafted pain of my sorrows.

Lines and verse achingly etched.

Skimming the edges of insanity.

Replacing my thirst for poetic beauty in life.

Reminiscent of my first kiss, a stark lonely woman encased

in a dusted oil painting. 

Now, my loyal companion and whore, Ann. 

 

A brilliant universe spoke with luscious of freedoms.

I no longer felt the anguish of hunger.

Reduction became my mother, nourishment and cure.

It was not for pleasure that I sought release.

 

The death of my father at age seven.

Brutal masters of learning and lack of moral

compassion who raised me to believe?

That I am merely a reflection of their successful

degree, accomplishment, and self-validation.

 

An orphan begging for support; someone to

Believe the potential inside me.

Sponsors of mercy I gratefully received a

Master’s education surpassing my professor’s

with silent indignations.

 

At the tender age of thirteen with ease I wrote Greek.

I not only composed Greek verses in lyric meters,

but could converse in Greek fluently and without embarrassment

at the age of 15.

 

It was age 18 that opium I employed off and

On; at twenty eight, taken daily, my normal

validating routine. I was convinced the elixir of pleasure;

was none other then Opium.

 

I caution you now,

be utmost diligent with your life.

The refuge I sought did clench and bind.

Leaking and bleeding revelations; avoiding

and seeking mournful healing and potency of life. 


Or like me?

You may see your face in the mirror and

Not believe what your eyes do see.

Abstract illusion, my evolution; servants

sold for my painful relief. Young Malay’s

soul swallowed whole, distant memories of

Opium’s toll.

 

“As when some great painter dips
His pencil in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse.”

 

A voice in the wilderness echoes aloud.

Most painfully it becomes clear…

It is your voice that screams out.

 

Silently eclipsing your life.

Disguising the dark into light. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 eclipse picture is talented artistry of : Silenieux of deviantart.com

Author notes

This was a hard one..i googled contemporary prose literature, and spent several days reading with horror
the life of Scholar and writer Thomas de Quencey.

He lived in the years of 1785-1859. His writing is well
known-Confession of an English Opium eater.
The Verse that caught my eye was his metaphor.

I thought it was very contemporary and revealing as to the painful life
of craving and needing opium for existence.

“As when some great painter dips
His pencil in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse.”
Opium is now known as heroin, crack, cocaine, and meth.
each mixed with their own toxins of fillers.

Recovery experts would see in his writes, that he was
setting himself up painfully replacing the anguish
he was facing with what he hoped was the magic elixir of life, unfortunately he did discover it was a simply an eclipse
of his wounded heart.



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1 - 5 of 5

  • Lyndon gold member
    April 1, 2008

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    The actual confessions read thus:

    My father died when I was about seven years old, and left me to the care of four guardians. I was sent to various schools, great and small; and was very early distinguished for my classical attainments, especially for my knowledge of Greek. At thirteen I wrote Greek with ease; and at fifteen my command of that language was so great, that I not only composed Greek verses in lyric metres, but would converse in Greek fluently, and without embarrassment -- an accomplishment which I have not since met with in any scholar of my times, and which, in my case, was owing to the practice of daily reading off the newspapers into the best Greek I could furnish extempore; for the necessity of ransacking my memory and invention for all sorts and combinations of periphrastic expressions, as equivalents for modern ideas, images, relations of things, etc., gave me a compass of diction which would never have been called out by a dull translation of moral essays, etc. "That boy," said one of my masters, pointing the attention of a stranger to me, "that boy could harangue an Athenian mob better than you or I could address an English one." He who honoured me with this eulogy was a scholar, "and a ripe and good one," and, of all my tutors, was the only one whom I loved or reverenced. Unfortunately for me (and, as I afterwards learned, to this worthy man's great indignation), I was transferred to the care, first of a blockhead, who was in a perpetual panic lest I should expose his ignorance; and, finally, to that of a respectable scholar, at the head of a great school on an ancient foundation. This man had been appointed to his situation by -- College, Oxford; and was a sound, well-built scholar, but (like most men whom I have known from that college) coarse, clumsy, and inelegant. A miserable contrast he presented, in my eyes, to the Etonian brilliancy of my favourite master; and, besides, he could not disguise from my hourly notice the poverty and meagreness of his understanding. It is a bad thing for a boy to bet and know himself, far beyond his tutors, whether in knowledge or in power of mind. This was the case, so far as regarded knowledge at least, not with myself oniy; for the two boys who jointly with myself composed the first form were better Grecians than the head-master, though not more elegant scholars, nor at all more accustomed to sacrifice to the graces. When I first entered, I remember that we read Sophocles; and it was a constant matter of triumph to us, the learned triumvirate of the first form, to see our "Archididascalus" (as he loved to be called) conning our lesson before we went up, and laying a regular train, with lexicon and grammar, for blowing up and blasting (as it were) any difficulties he found in the choruses; whilst we never condescended to open our books, until the moment of going up, and were generally employed in writing epigrams upon his wig, or some

    • Lyndon gold member
      April 1, 2008
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      These senteces are a guide

      to the prose you read. The longer sentences of the day and the exact punctuation should be present in your prose poem. There are many places above where you have made errors in punctuation which the classical scholar, de Quincey (note the spelling) would not have made.
      However, you have been brave in tackling this and I wish you well.


  • Mirthryl
    March 17, 2008

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    Poignant description of a difficult life "brutal masters of learning and lack of moral compassion," yet awareness that he had great gifts as well "surpassing my professors with silent indignations," "Greek fluently and without embarassement at the age of 15" and "masterfully viewed...artistic shadow filled with illuminating prose."

    Then descriptions of "eagerly seduced" and "replacing my thirst for poetic beauty" and "was convinced the elixer of pleasure was...opium." Insights into its effects in his life in stanza 4, and commencing with "I caution you now."
    Intense piece.


  • moluv10
    March 3, 2008

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    I love this! i love the relation to real life that you have expressed here. Best of luck in the contest sis.


  • Ephiphany
    March 3, 2008

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    Loved the entire prose of this sis

    I think you did a wonderful job on the imagery and words used in description of how you felt in writing this. Good luck in the contest, and thanks for sharing.

    Ephiphany ♥

1 - 5 of 5