#tomobedlam

[enchantedbook]

'Tom O'Bedlam' by Norman Lindsay, c. 1918

[goetiiavacuum]

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Norman Lindsay ⁣

The Moon’s My Constant Mistress⁣

1918⁣

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“Published in the book Bedlamite Verses of the XVI and XVII Centuries for Tom O’Bedlam.⁣

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“Tom o’ Bedlam” is the title of an anonymous poem in the “mad song” genre, written in the voice of a homeless “Bedlamite”. The poem was probably composed at the beginning of the 17th century. In How to Read and Why Harold Bloom called it “the greatest anonymous lyric in the [English] language.”⁣

The terms “Tom o’ Bedlam” and “Bedlam beggar” were used to describe beggars and vagrants who had or feigned mental illness (see also Abraham-men). Aubrey writes that such a beggar could be identified by “an armilla of tin printed, of about three inches breadth” attached to his left arm. They claimed, or were assumed, to be former inmates of the Bethlem Royal Hospital (Bedlam). It was commonly thought that inmates were released with authority to make their way by begging, though this is probably untrue. If it happened at all, the numbers were small, though there were probably large numbers of mentally ill travellers who turned to begging, but had never been near Bedlam. It was adopted as a technique of begging, or a character. For example, Edgar in King Lear disguises himself as mad “Tom o’ Bedlam”.”⁣

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[enchantedbook]

'The Moon my Constant Mistress' by Norman Lindsay, 1918.

[poem-today]

A poem by William Matthews

Misgivings

"Perhaps you'll tire of me," muses my love, although she's like a great city to me, or a park that finds new ways to wear each flounce of light and investiture of weather. Soil doesn't tire of rain, I think, but I know what she fears: plans warp, planes explode, topsoil gets peeled away by floods. And worse than what we can't control is what we could; those drab, scuttled marriages we shed so gratefully may augur we're on our owns for good reasons. "Hi, honey," chirps Dread when I come through the door, "you're home." Experience is a great teacher of the value of experience, its claustrophobic prudence, its gloomy name-the-disasters- in-advance charisma. Listen, my wary one, it's far too late to unlove each other. Instead let's cook something elaborate and not invite anyone to share it but eat it all up very very slowly.

William Matthews

Listen to Tom O’Bedlam read the poem.

[redgoldsparks]

Hey Portland! I just left three copies of "Tom o'Bedlam" at Floating World Comics. You can pick one up there if you missed Rose City ~ #floatingworldcomics #comics #tomobedlam #portland #rosecity

[haver-es]

Alone with everybody - Charles Bukowski