Among articles of my deceased mother in law this little treasure was found: a very fragile signed collection of poetry from 1893. I will post the title page and the poem "Absinthe".

And the poem --

And he wasn't even in Seattle!

NIIIIIICE!

Much appreciated! Now what we need is a poetry forum....

Isn't the poetry forum in the Libary Topic somewhere? Like in the thread, "Books I be Reading, That Have Poetry in Them?"

That is a cool poem though. Or is it a sonnet? I can't tell the difference. I just want to party with that guy. I think that would be a little smelly these days though.


(P.S. I spelled Library wrong on purpose. I did that so people could say libary and think it was funny.)

That's really cool J.P.
I tried to find some information on the author, but came up empty.
I have a lot of friends who deal in rare books, one specifically in Americana. I'm curious, so I sent them inquiries.
I'll let you know if they come up with any interesting trivia facts.

Very, very nice. You may well have rescued this guy from relative obscurity. I couldn't find a thing on him on the web.


Edit: Great minds think alike, Lammy.

grate minds!

for me to poop on!

I too will poop on it. Poetry forums are for ABG.

Tried to print it out at work but half of these comps don't have the right drivers for the new laser jet.

BTW...nice find, JP!

Slice minds, grate parmesan on top.

fuck you guys.


i have a strong desire...
for i can't quench the fire..
of the burning pyre...
before i retire..



roses are red, violets are slakey.
chicken tastes better with shake 'n bakey.

Can you print text?


A demon draught of sweet despair art thou,
A damning drink that thrills my sated frame
With dreams of pleasures that I dare not name,
Albeit their deep stain is on my brow.

O, potent Absinthe, thou hast taught me how
To drown in thy green depths my self-wrought blame,
And make my soul oblivious of its shame,
Forgetting all but thee, as even now!

Yet, as I sip thy poisoned drops and feel
Thy slow insidious gladness in each vein,
Strange and uncanny terrors o'er me steal,
And horrid thoughts of madness fill my brain,
While round me wild-eyed maniacs gibbering reel,
And urge me on to Hell's delirious pain.

- Maurice Baldwin, 1893

The collection is a small run, "number 4 of thirty" and most all of the sonnets reflect a Victorian, lovelorn women worshipping, and pretty horney/lonely fellow. It does mention smoking a cigarette which, in 1893 pretty much had to be rolled yourself. At least this obscure poet could drown his sorrows in the good stuff!