:: sometimes it's not just sour grapes ::

you know when you really want something, and you can't have it, but in the end you're actually really glad you didn't get it?
no?
me neither.

that's one of the odd topics that edwin arlington robinson touches on in his poem "richard cory". not many people are familiar with edwin arlington robinson; I am only familiar with a few of his poems, even less with him. I like what I've read enough to be curious about his other stuff, but not curious enough to have already done the research. later.
maybe.

"richard cory" is pretty self-explanatory. there's this dude. he's rich. everybody's like "WOO RICHARD CORY" -- only quietly and respectfully -- and the last line is breathtakingly shocking and raw and revelatory. but what I like about the poem is it's extraordinary relatable-ness. it's extraordinary because you can relate to both sides at once.

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.

robinson sets up cory's status right away: "we people on the pavement". "we people" are removed from this one man by an intangible social status displayed in the very tangible mode of travel. he's in a vehicle, on the road, while everyone else relies on their own two feet. but there's something of high breeding and quality even in the way he looks.

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.

not only is this man a gentleman, he's rich. (pun!   …get it? if you don't get it, sucks for you. I'm hilarious.) despite this money, richard cory doesn't parade himself; he's quiet, unassuming, polite. and this personableness … personability? hrm … makes even the plebs like him. pulses flutter. we on the pavement watch him go by, all, 'dude, that richard cory's where it's at, man.'

to tell the truth, we all know people like that, right? people who have everything, at least everything we want. money, grace, looks, charm, popularity. it's bad how badly I feel that way sometimes: this feeling that if I wish or want it hard enough, there just isn't a way for me to not get it. because I'm so deserving.
   obviously, though, I'm not. I don't deserve any of what I've been given. why aren't I grateful for what I have? seriously: I have so much.
   mama is always reminding me -- sure, this friend or that friend may not have the same struggles I do. olivia is outgoing, unselfconscious, completely unable to be embarrassed, adorable -- truly, she's the real-life epitome of cynthia kirkpatrick, only without the shallowness. kelsey is beautiful, musical, has a great sense of humor, but is willing to laugh at the dumbest stuff just so you'll feel better about yourself; it's like she thrives on merely being encouraging to the people around her. amanda chopped off her beautiful hair and got a pixie cut -- her gorgeous cheekbones just rolled with it, and I don't know if I have ever met anyone prettier. honest, guys, cross my heart and hope to die. but she doesn't realize  how beautiful she is; and her photorealistic artwork has gotten her paid jobs and a private tutor in san francisco. she's 18.
   you can see how, with friends like this, I'd be jealous all the time. but mama reminds me that olivia may not be shy, kelsey may be able to sing, amanda might be amazing at painting, but they have their own struggles. I see where I struggle -- shyness, vanity, irritation; really, pride -- and how they don't seem to. but that doesn't mean they don't struggle. their areas of difficulty are just different, and different doesn't mean better. it just means different.

thank you for hearing me out.
last verse.

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.

we don't realize what we have because we're so busy wanting what we don't. our bread isn't enough; we have to have the meat, too.
and the irony is found in that if we had the meat and the bread, we wouldn't necessarily be happy, either.