Missed Opportunities

"Jim? Whatever happened with you and Lisa?"

"She doesn't wanna go out with me. Gave it a try."

"A try?"

"Yeah."

"'Gather ye rosebuds', you know what that means?"

"It's the first half of the first line of a poem by Robert Herrick."

"What's the second half?"

"While ye may"


Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime
You may forever tarry

Love Poetry

It was pointed out to me at some point that I am all about the chase. While I am not sure if I agree with that, the chase is definitely the most thrilling phase. Who would want to woo someone who could be gotten easily! If the chase is what I am all about, poetry has often been the map I use to navigate it. 

Love poetry is tricky. The line between creepy and romantic is a very ambiguous one. What is the right time to give someone love poetry? Sometimes it is difficult to even rely on first impressions for while you may be suitably flattered by the poem but find it creepy, in retrospect. Others still might get creeped out by the idea of having a poem written for them, but come to love the poem as it suffers re-reads. More often than not these considerations are not thought out. Love (or its second cousins like infatuation) makes us put ourselves out there is crazy ways. While it starts as strange feeling in the stomach, the problem is it very soon floods your brain. Love poetry is often less about love, than about longing. Poets get high on the drama, they are attracted to complications. They fall for other people's wives, people who are unattainable, people who don't love us back. 

Sometimes love poetry comes by itself, it is spontaneous, almost impetuous, daring you to say things you do not want to admit; at other times, it is contrived, deliberate, planned. There are simple ways to write a love poem, and in my experience, it is the preferable way. Tangled love-lines tend to leave the recipient confused rather than flattered. I often rely on the acrostic. For one, it conveys that you know the name of the object of your affection. And, it makes them feel connected to not just the sense but the structure of your poem as well. Great passion at times can be counter-productive, you may say too much or scare off your love.  Mostly, a pretty turn of phrase, some self deprecating humor, and a bit of flattery does the trick.

Most of all, love poetry is bold, its dramatic, it appeals to our need for some theatrics in our life, something beyond the subtlety. The world is a little better when you have someone writing poetry for you. Writing poetry and making the day of the special someone makes the world feel even better.

The poem 
does not lie to us. We lie under
its law, alive in the glamor of this hour.
able to enter into the sacred places
of his dark people, who carry secrets
glassed in their eyes and hide words
under the coats of their tongue.

John Wieners

That this is all there is; that this is so.

Some of the finest things in life are by definition, short-lived. What gives them character is the impending end. In a world where we constantly look for permanence, stability and happily-ever-afters, sometimes things with an expiry period have a lot of appeal. As I often do, I will resort to another man's poetry to capture the idea.

To make love with a stranger is the best.
There is no riddle and there is no test. --

To lie and love, not aching to make sense
Of this night in the mesh of reference.

To touch, unclaimed by fear of imminent day,
And understand, as only strangers may.

To feel the beat of foreign heart to heart
Preferring neither to prolong nor part.

To rest within the unknown arms and know
That this is all there is; that this is so. 

Love Triangles

Love triangles are fascinating. They are excellent literary devices and allow for 'thickening of plots' like few other things can. Most of us have been in love triangles ourselves. There are many things that make love triangles interesting - the awkwardness when all the three parties are together; the dilemma which the choosing party faces as we all are when faced with more than one options but this being the most gratifying and self-important of dilemmas, she (usually the choosing party is a she) stretches it out as much as she can; the way we align our loyalties with one of the contestants;  the general frustration of a worthy yet wracked-with-self-doubt candidate who will not act until it is too late, but, most of all, how the two competing parties behave around each other. There is a fair amount of sizing up, often reserve or a false sense of bravado, at times an undercurrent of hostility; yet, in other circumstances double-entendres and if the parties manage to bond, even inside jokes. In my experience, it usually leads to a strange kind of camaraderie which is unlike any other; the bond of a shared taste is a strong bond.

Some of my favorites stories are built around love triangles. The most interesting sequences come about when the suitors are thrown together leading to tension, banter, repartee, bonding and often all of the above. A drunk James Stewart hiccoughing animatedly against a bemused Cary Grant in The Philadelphia Story, a curious Amit trying to size up an overconfident Haresh in A Suitable Boy or a patronising Casey discovering Gordon is actually a pretty formidable rival in Sports Night, they all makes for fascinating contests.

Some of the most interesting love triangles come from real life. Be it Nehru-Edwina-Mountbatten or the very marriageable Sanjeev Kumar and the very much married Dharmendra falling for the very Iyengar Hema Malini on the sets of Seeta aur Geeta. But the most fascinating modern love triangle is without doubt the Harrison-Boyd-Clapton episode. George Harrison and Eric Clapton's love for Patti Boyd was the stuff of legends and gave us some of the most fascinating love songs of the last century from 'Something' which Sinatra dubbed as the greatest love ballad of all time to the brilliantly desperately pathetic 'Layla' and 'Bell Bottom Blues'. Clapton fell in love with Patti Boyd while she was still married to Harrison and short of inviting Harrison for a pistol duel (though they did sort of duel with electric guitar and amps once for Patti according to her) did everything to snake away his good friend and music collaborator's wife including writing her desperate love-letters daily, emotional blackmail, dating her sister as a sort of consolation prize, not to mention writing some of the finest songs he ever wrote. Strangely, even after Patti left Harrison for Clapton, the two remained friends and used to refer to each other as husbands in law!

Another fascinating tale to another man's wife inspiring some beautiful writing is Leigh Hunt's poem Jenny kissed me written for Thomas Carlyle's wife Jane. I reproduce the story here taken verbatim from a website.

In 1835 Leigh Hunt and his large family moved to Chelsea in London and became neighbor to poet and author, Thomas Carlyle, at his suggestion. The two became close friends and Hunt’s home was always open to his circle of friends, of which there were many.
Two stories exist. One story is that Leigh Hunt visited the Carlyles to deliver the news that he was going to publish one of Thomas Carlyle’s poems. When the news was delivered to Carlyle’s wife, Jane, she jumped up and kissed him. The other story is that during one winter Hunt was sick with influenza and absent for so long that when he finally recovered and went to visit the Carlyles, Jane jumped up and kissed him as soon as he appeared at the door. Two days later one of the Hunt servants delivered a note addressed, "From Mr. Hunt to Mrs. Carlyle." It contained the poem, Jenny Kissed Me. 

Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in.
Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in.
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad;
Say that health and wealth have missed me;
Say I'm growing old, but add -
Jenny kissed me!

Reputedly, Leigh Hunt was a flirtatious man, often in trouble with his wife. Also reputedly, Jane Carlyle was a bit sour and better known for her acid tongue than for impulsive affection.

Gloom in Poetry

I read Bereft by Robert Frost after a long time today. I had been in love with this poem since the time I read an excerpt from it in an Erich Segal novel in my early teens. It is dark, weirdly rhythmic despite a very odd rhyming scheme, it is about loneliness, and even more so about the fear that comes with that loneliness.

Bereft

Where had I heard this wind before

Change like this to a deeper roar?

What would it take my standing there for,

Holding open a restive door,

Looking down hill to a frothy shore?

Summer was past and the day was past.

Sombre clouds in the west were massed.

Out on the porch's sagging floor,

Leaves got up in a coil and hissed,

Blindly striking at my knee and missed.

Something sinister in the tone

Told me my secret my be known:

Word I was in the house alone

Somehow must have gotten abroad,

Word I was in my life alone,

Word I had no one left but God. 

My love for poetry began as a kid with Robert Frost. 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening' remains till date one of my favorite poems. Stopping by the woods was the beginning of my love-affair with dark poetry laced with cold imagery. Yet, all was not dark and morose. Some of the happiest memories of my boyhood years revolve around enjoying the pleasures of masterpieces by Lewis Carrol, Edward Lear, Ogden Nash and our very own Sukumar Ray. But even in this genre, my favorites remain the macabre 'Macavity the Mystery Cat' by Eliot or the quiet, funny reflections in poetry by Roald Dahl and Ogden Nash. Sonnets 18 and 116 of William Shakespeare led me to love poetry. In the meantime, I tried my hand at writing some of my own, mostly self-indulgent attempts at unrequited love poetry, sad and morose, though in this case, more so by the circumstances of my inspiration than a taste for gloom. Through adolescence and if I may term it so, early adult life, I have often turned to poetry for inspiration (Whitman), beauty of language and the power of metaphor (Donne, Herbert) simplicity (Jonson), quiet reflection and rhyme (Seth) escapism (Nash, Lear) or the sheer beauty of words (Neruda). And while the uplifting and inspiring works of Whitman or the drama in Donne's works have at various times blown away and enchanted me, more often than not I turn to poetry for gloom, subtlety and irony, which is were Frost, Daruwalla and to some extent, Vikram Seth give rich dividends. 

Top 5 Supporting Acts

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; 
Am an attendant lord, one that will do 
To swell a progress, start a scene or two 
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, 
Deferential, glad to be of use, 
Politic, cautious, and meticulous; 
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; 
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— 
Almost, at times, the Fool. 

- T S Eliot

No. 5 Jude Law for The Talented Mr. Ripley, Wilde, A.I., Sherlock Holmes, Road to Perdition, Gattaca - I have always liked Jude Law. He is handsome, has a wide range and is a fine actor. Yet, for some reason, he is yet to carry a big film on his own and is most comfortable playing second fiddle to other actors, which admittedly he does often to perfection.

No. 4 Amitabh Bachchan in Anand - Rajesh Khanna was at the peak of his powers and nothing could have conceivably stolen the thunder from him in essaying the eponymous role which gave him the sufficient scope for his histrionics. Yet, at some point mid-way we realise that the movie is actually revolving around the unfashionably depicted quiet, intense, idealistic Dr. Bhaskar Bannerjee. Rajesh Khanna is everything you can expect as the effervescent, over the top, dying cancer patient but it is the Amitabh's portrayal of the physician's frustration and the friend's pain that touch us the most.

No. 3 Derek Fowlds in Yes Minister/Yes Prime Minister - In what was both Paul Eddington and Nigel Hawthorne's career defining roles, Derek Fowlds stars as Bernard Woolley. He is the most conscientious character in the show and usually must juggle his loyalties to the minister and the principal secretary often leading to very interesting situations. This show involved many amusing series long-winded lines from both Eddington and particularly Hawthorne which would usually end with a one-liner from Fowlds which would be the funniest.

No. 2 Rahul Dravid for the last decade and a half - From his first steps in test cricket when he scored a 95 to co-debutant Ganguly's 131, Dravid has made it a business to do a great job only to be overshadowed by someone else. His supporting acts include among others, the 180 in Kolkata in 2001, his two highest one day scores and the distinction of being involved in the maximum number of century partnerships with Tendulkar. As someone who prefers to remain in shadows himself, I have always felt a sense of kinship and fondness for Dravid and perhaps that is why he remains my favorite cricketer. 

No. 1 James Stewart in The Philadelphia Story - This movie stars Kate Hepburn in a role written for her and intended to relaunch her after she was branded as 'box office poison' and Cary Grant at his handsome best. Yet, it is Jimmy Stewart, not a big name when he cast after Spencer Tracy, Hepburn's first choice turned down the role, who steals the show as Macauley Connors, the rapidly-talking, middle-class writer turned tabloid reporter bristling with every contact with the idle rich. His hiccoughing drunken bit with Cary Grant and 'holocausts and hearth-fires' bit with Kate Hepburn are absolute gems.


Honorory Mentions: Lord Emsworth in the Blandings Castle stories by P G Wodehouse, Iftekar in his various roles as the gentlemanly police officer in the 1970s, Naseer and Om Puri as the cops(witches) in Maqbool, Claude Rains in Casablanca, V P Menon for his role in integration of independent India, Deepak Tijori for his inhaler-sniffing-real-brains-behind-the-plot role in Khiladi, Naseeruddin Shah in Ardh Satya.

25 Random Things About Me

1. I find things distasteful very easily - perverted jokes, slapstick comedy, metal, too much ginger but I almost never find something physically disgusting;  blood and gore, ugly pornographic scenes, bad hygiene, people taking a dump, poultry getting butchered - none of these would bother me, say, while I am eating.

2. I truly believe that as I get older I will grow handsomer, i.e. unless I go bald.

3. I have a thing for people's ears. I notice them, I compare them, I remember people by them and I like ear jewelery on women.

4. As a child, I was tricked into believing that Nana Patekar is a dwarf and that he stood on a stool to give his takes, which was later touched up by special effects. I believed it for longer than I am proud of.

5. For someone generally mild mannered and non-confrontational, I got into more than my share of fist-fights through high school. I don't know why.

6. For as long as I can remember, my most innate desire has been to be a cricket analyst. Someday, I want to have a blog on Cricinfo.

7. I am remarkably untouched by anything spiritual in nature. Nothing religious or spiritual ever moves me and I am completely untouched by the question of the existence of god. I sometimes find that strange.

8. From 1998 to 2006 i.e., roughly from the age of 11 to 19,  I went through a no tears streak. I did not cry even once in that period.

9. Significant influences in my adolescent years included The Godfather(novel),  Ayn Rand, Atticus Finch, Rahul Dravid, the Angry Young Man movies of Amitabh Bachchan, Letters from a father to a daughter by Nehru, Galahad Threepwood and Norman Lewis.

10. Despite having a deep baritone, I shriek girlishly in a high pitched voice when taken by surprise or in pain. Why this happens remains a mystery to me.

11. I like to collect trivia on any subject of interest to me. I spend hours on Google and Wikipedia.

12. I think VVS Laxman is the most gifted batsman I have ever seen bat.

13. I am not a big fan of the movies Bollywood churns out but if someone says that a certain movie 'insulted their intelligence', I find it extremely annoying.

14. I am obsessed with The Beatles, Hugh Laurie, Rahul Dravid, Kate Hepburn, A Suitable Boy and the song Autumn Leaves.

15. I went to what was primarily a girls' school for quite a few years, as a kid.

16. I do not think that there is another book as full of wisdom as The Godfather. I believe it truly contains the answer to all the questions in life. In the words of Nora Ephron, it is the I-Ching, the sum of all intelligence.

17. James Stewart is my favorite hero of all time.

18. I have a sharp memory and am generally good  at remembering all sorts of dates, entire conversations, people's faces, movie dialogues, short stories and songs. I want people around me to create history so that I can chronicle it.

19. I have not read or seen any of Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Star Wars and Indiana Jones.

20. My favorite things would include the following - Billy Wilder's films, Salim-Javed's screenwriting, Nat King Cole's singing, Shane Warne's bowling, John Donne's The Expostulation, John Lennon's voice, the TV series BlackAdder, Bade Bhai Sahab by Premchand, the Beatles songs composed by George Harrison, Love Letters by A R Gurney, Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes, the movie Dil Se, Ruskin Bond's essays, Rahul Dravid's late cuts, Amma's curd chicken dish and the Christopher Walken sequence from Pulp Fiction.

21. How Irfan Pathan could lose his prodigious swing bothers me a lot. Is it really possible? How can you know how to move a ball like that and forget it!?!

22. I enjoyed Biology a lot in high school. The cardio-vascular system was my favorite organ system.

23. English Breakfast is my favorite cuisine.

24. Wuthering Heights is my favorite classic.

25. My eyes are not particularly small. But they are deep-set and beady.

Leg spinners pose problems much like love,
Requiring commitment, the taking of a chance.
Halfway deludes; the bold advance.

Right back, there's time to watch
Developments, though perhaps too late.
It's not spectacular, but can conciliate.

Instinctively romantics move towards,
Preventing complexities by their embrace,
Batsman and lover embarked as overlords.

- Alan Ross

Two syllables,
One follows the other tamely.
One pitch, both even, not higher.
Nor sinking down like fire.
What drama is it that lies in its utterance?

I lie back in my bed all day
Repeating it over and over,
Savouring the feel of it on my tongue.

I walked that evening across that bend
Past each known bush and where we first met.
Past the old house of my old friend
Past paths that lead to the church’s exit.

No one passed me as I strolled.
Hand in sleeve, and my hands grew cold.
I was easy company, at our sad ease
No chivalry, no curtsies

The lights glow on, who lives here now
Neglects the garden.
I take the turn and you are gone

Is aloneness a sign
Of greater wisdom in design
The torque of me and mine

Some talk of failing and some of love
That terms are reckoned from above

Song

Sweetest love, I do not go,
For weariness of thee,
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter love for me ;
But since that I
At the last must part, 'tis best,
Thus to use myself in jest
By feigned deaths to die.

Yesternight the sun went hence,
And yet is here to-day ;
He hath no desire nor sense,
Nor half so short a way ;
Then fear not me,
But believe that I shall make
Speedier journeys, since I take
More wings and spurs than he.

O how feeble is man's power,
That if good fortune fall,
Cannot add another hour,
Nor a lost hour recall ;
But come bad chance,
And we join to it our strength,
And we teach it art and length,
Itself o'er us to advance.

When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not wind,
But sigh'st my soul away ;
When thou weep'st, unkindly kind,
My life's blood doth decay.
It cannot be
That thou lovest me as thou say'st,
If in thine my life thou waste,
That art the best of me.

Let not thy divining heart
Forethink me any ill ;
Destiny may take thy part,
And may thy fears fulfil.
But think that we
Are but turn'd aside to sleep.
They who one another keep
Alive, ne'er parted be.

- John Donne

I don't think I have ever come across any piece of poetry which I like better than this.

The Historic Trip to Town Part - II

For as long as I can remember, I have always imagined my life as a part of a larger narrative, chronicled in black and white, in still photographs and in film with a background score set to it. Perhaps it is just that I have always wanted to be a storyteller that I like to imagine my own life as scenes from a novel or movie.

Therefore, in my mind the following scenes are recapitulated with elaborate camera movements and soundtracks.

Setting: Guy waiting amidst barbed wires and telephone booths. Dimly lit scene in the part of night when the dawn in just about to set in.

As she becomes visible walking out from her hostel, the initial chords in The Sounds of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel begin to play. The song plays till she walks up to him.

"What have you put on your face?"
"On my face?!"
"Yeah. It looks different. More shiny."
And something changed.


******

Setting: Inside a BMTC bus. It is still before sunrise.

The camera follows them as they enter the bus and take a seat right at the back. As they sit, Aye Khuda Hafiz from Yuva starts. The camera angle keeps switches between shots of them sitting together and shots of her through his eyes beginning at her face and down to her hands. The song continues right till before Lucky Ali and Alisha Chenoy get into 'wo wos' at the end of the first verse and ends as they settle into a conversation about bus rides with the final long shot of the bus turning at crossing.


******

Setting: Walking up Brigade Road

Dream sequence as he watches her walk ahead and as the guitar starts strumming in the background, he breaks into You've really got a hold on me by the Beatles. They walk along a closed KFC, cigarette shops and the Nigiris which sells imported mangoes(or are they to be exported?) as he continues singing.


******

Setting: In Kaycee's, a small South Indian place, one of the least glamorous and memorable on Church Street which was the only place to be open at that hour.

Dev Chanda Theme 1 plays out as they throw probing questions about respective crushes and those others who had a crush on them.


******

Setting: A figure with a lit cigarette and smoke in a dark room.

A deep, impassive voice recites poetry with only the slight disturbance of the telephone line punctuating it.

What do I want of you?
To walk away with, from the rest.
As in privacy, you discard ceremony
Let your thoughts flow in front of me.
Lean on my shoulders, clasp my fingers.
My love, vouchsafe to me what you have vouchsafed to none.
What no brother, husband, friend and physician was privileged to know.
Talk of all and sundry, vacuities, the pain of existence, the pleasure of living.
Life's big despairs and small glories, what at this moment you lie thinking.
Tell me the whole story.


******

Cactus

Raat eka-ek neend tooti to kya dekhta hoon
Gagan se jaise utar kar ek tara cactus ki jhadiyon mein aa gira hai
Raat eka-ek neend tooti to kya dekhta hoon gagan se jaise utar kar ek tara cactus ki jhadiyon mein aa gira hai
Nikat jaa kar dekhta hoon ek adbhut phool kaanton mein khila hai
Hai cactus, divas mein tum khile hote,
rashmiyan kitni nichhaavar ho gayeen hoti tumhari pankhudiyon par
pavan apni god mein tumko jhula kar dhanya hota
gandh dheemi baantta phirta dhruvon mein
bhringya aate gherte tumko
anavrat bherte mala suyash ki, gun tumhara gungunate

dhairya se sun baat meri, cactus ne kahaa dheeme se
kisi vivashta se khilta hoon, khulne ki saadh to nahi hai
jag mein anjaana reh jaana koi apradh to nahi hai

- Harivanshrai Bachchan

You'd think it would be character
but you would think it wrong
All my men were characters
and most of them are gone

You'd think you should be similar
but no that's not it
the similar ones had my same faults
and we bored ourselves a bit.

You'd think it should be passion
but that's just ebb and flow
love can spark that back again
and then the fireworks show

You'd think it should be purpose
and I thought that for a while
for what then am I loving,
a man or his profile?

You'd think it would be trust
but everyone betrays
the one they love
in just too many ways.

You'd think it should be sacred
and then I think again
you have to forgive each other
and start it new again.

You'd think it could be intelligence
I like men who are smart
but it's courage and compassion
all the parts of heart

You'd think it would be happiness
and you might be close to right
but I need my space and darkness too
and that can start a fight.

You'd think it might be talking
and I think that might be close
but how he fills the silence
cause I just hate verbose.

You'd think he should be a hero
but I don't need much saving
I've saved myself for some long time
I'd rather watch him shaving.

You'd think it should be simple
to know that dueling men
argue from their own conceits
and love themselves again.

You'd think it would be hard to find
because no love had I found
till I saw him standing there
when I finally turned around.

You'd think it should be peaceful
but we started out with fighting-
and then he wrote his poems just for me.
And I don't need sky writing.

You'd think it might be many things
but I think that it's this
That I just make him happy
and that we just persist.

Bombay Rain

Diagonal rain. Waves scud towards the sand

crest and trough. Through clouds, a strand
of light shimmers down to a silvered zone of sea.
The gulls circle its uncertainty.
And rains - untimely, unsure, sporadic
throw off schedules, flood roads, congest traffic.
A sea of umbrellas on the street
And late by an hour, boy and girl meet
I watch the rain, think of thee

Cleansing her soul, you that she.

Koyal

Tujhe ek aawaz mili kya tune saara aasman hi apne sir par uthha liya hai
Tujhe marmvedi dardila meethha swar jo mila hua hai
Disha Disha mein, dal dal mein, pat pat mein usko rasa basa dene ko kya tu sach much antarprerit akulai hai
Ya tu apna, apni boli ki mithhas ka vigyapan karti firti hai
Abhi yahaan se, abhi wahaan se, jahaan tahaan se
Woh madmaati apni hi rat gayi lagati gayi lagati gayi lagati

© Harivanshrai Bachchan

Protocols

What can I say to you? How can I retract
All that that fool, my voice, has spoken.
Now that the facts are plain, the placid surface cracked,
The protocols of friendship broken?

I cannot walk by day as now I walk at dawn
Past the still house where you lie sleeping.
May the sun burn these footprints on the lawn
And hold you in its warmth and keeping.

- Vikram Seth

What is so special about Seth's poetry is the simple, elegant verse, the easy to relate ideas that he writes about ranging from loneliness to heartbreak, and the crisp economy of style, not to mention the strict adherence to metre. This is one of my personal favorites from All you who sleep tonight.

License my roving hands, and let them go

Before, behind, between, above, below.

John Donne
From On his mistress going to bed

Donne is damn cool and wrote some of the sexiest lines ever. More on this after the Moots are over.

Stopping by woods on a snowy evening

Whose woods these are I think I know,

His house is in the village though.

He will not see me stopping here,

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer,

To stop without a farmhouse near,

Between the woods and frozen lake,

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake,

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep,

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost

This seems all the more apt in the midst of my moot week when I have loads of work to do. In any case, ‘Stopping by woods…’ has been one of my favorite poems ever since I can remember. Frost wrote poems which could be read on many different levels, and you could still enjoy the superficial surface meaning. Here, he plays a fair bit with the overdone sleep-death metaphor. Beyond the surface is the more melancholic feel marked by a longing for death and weariness from the pain of existence and the imagery of winter and night sets a fine backdrop to it.