This seemed like a most unusual spambot, with a rather elegant and “literary” sound to it:
The landlady sobbing and wailing at her forlorn condition like a peasant woman.
So I looked it up, and sure enough, it’s from this Dostoevsky story.
It also reminded me instantly of this poem by Coleridge; here’s the poem’s beginning:
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
And here’s the part the spambot conjured up for me:
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
Then there’s also Picasso’s Weeping Woman.
The poem “Kublai Khan” has long fascinated me. For one thing, Coleridge says it came to him in a dream – actually, an opium-induced dream. Here’s the fuller story:
According to Coleridge’s preface to “Kubla Khan”, the poem was composed one night after he experienced an opium-influenced dream after reading a work describing Xanadu, the summer capital of the Mongol-led Yuan dynasty of China founded by Kublai Khan (Emperor Shizu of Yuan). Upon waking, he set about writing lines of poetry that came to him from the dream until he was interrupted by “a person on business from Porlock”. The poem could not be completed according to its original 200–300 line plan as the interruption caused him to forget the lines. He left it unpublished and kept it for private readings for his friends until 1816 when, at the prompting of Lord Byron, it was published.
The poem is vastly different in style from other poems written by Coleridge.
Actually, I’d say it’s different from most other poems written by anyone, period. It does seem to come from another place. We don’t really know what it’s about in the conventional sense. It’s a mystical and lyrical poetic vision, that’s all. That’s the way I see it, anyway.
The last stanza gave me an involuntary chill the first time I read it, as a teenager. And it still does – every time I read it:
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
