Showing posts with label opium. Show all posts
Showing posts with label opium. Show all posts

Friday, July 2, 2021

The Opium-Eater’s Soliloquy

Without any apology I reproduce here some verses which appeared in 1894, about the time when the Royal Opium Commission came to India:

They began by mourning over my degraded moral state,
Then my physical decadence they would anxiously debate.
Then they raised a pious eye,
And they heaved a pitying sigh,
And they shuddered as they pondered on my melancholy fate.
Now, I never had reflected on the matter thus, at all,
For my luxuries were few, and my expenditure was small.
I was happy as the day,
In my own abandoned way,
Till they said they must release me from the bonds that held me thrall.
I’d been cheered up at my Chandoo 4 shop, for years at least two score,
To perform my daily labour, and was never sick or sore;
But they said this must not be;
So they passed a stern decree,
And they made my Chandoo seller shut his hospitable door.
Now they’re sending out Commissions with the philanthropic view
Of inducing us to part with sev’ral crores of revenue;
For all opium traffic’s sin,
And, although it brings in tin,
Our nefarious trade papaverous, they say we must eschew.
Who’d have thought that my redemption would have cost so many lakhs
(For they saddle their expenses on my fellow-subjects’ backs).
What with deficits to square,
And Commissions everywhere,
On the “hoarded wealth of India” I shall prove a heavy tax.
If I’d only cultivated, now, a taste for beer or gin,
Or had learnt at Pool or Baccarat my neighbour’s coin to win,
I could roam abroad o’ nights,
And indulge in these delights,
And my soul would not be stigmatized as being steeped in sin!
But as mine’s a heathen weakness for a creature-comfort, far
Less pernicious than their alcohol, more clean than their cigar,
They have sent their howlings forth,
From their platform in the North,
And ’twixt me and my poor pleasures have imposed a righteous bar!

Drug Smuggling and Taking in India and Burma by Roy K. Anderson


4:Chandoo, the Indian name for prepared or clarified opium used in smoking. The Burmese name for it is Beinsi.

A Persian Allegory

Three men, one under the effects of alcohol, one under the effects of opium, and the last under the effects of hemp, arrived one night at the closed gates of a city. “Let us break down the gates,” said the alcohol drinker in a fury of rage, “I can do it with my sword!” “Nay,” said the opium eater, “We can rest here outside in comfort till the morning, when the gates will be opened, and we may enter.” “Why all this foolish talk?” whined the one under the effects of hemp. “Let us creep in through the key-hole. We can make ourselves small enough!”

Drug Smuggling and Taking in India and Burma by Roy K. Anderson

Monday, July 15, 2019

The Glossary of Opium

The Den (opium den):

Joint
Hop joint
Lay-down joint

The Pipe:

Gonger
Bamboo
Dream stick
Saxophone

The Smoker:

Pipie
Pipe-fiend
Gowster
Yen-shee-boy (def. Websters)

To Smoke Opium:

To be on the hip
Kicking the gong around (def. urban dictionary)
Rolling the log

Opium: A Portrait of the Heavenly Demon, Barbara Hudgsen

Thursday, June 27, 2019

The Lay of a Lotus Eater

The Lay of a Lotus Eater

Oh, wicked little dope pill,
    You sphere of poppy dough—
Tho’ sin too oft indulged in—
  I fonder of you grow.

Thou dear, diverting hop pill,
    That makes all care forget;
Without you what would life be?
  A drear and tasteless lot.

The Tenderloin girls all love you,
    You are their heart’s delight;
The sight of you brings sunshine;
Your absence—darkest night.

A Devotee, Louis J. Beck

Monday, June 24, 2019

Limehouse, London

Click here for a high resolution map

Authors who wrote about the sordid aspects of Limehouse: Arthur Conan Doyle: The Man with the Twisted Lip, The Sign of the Four; Thomas Burke: Limehouse Nights; Sax Rohmer (Arthur Ward): The Yellow Peril, Dope, The Yellow Claw, and his Fu Manchu series- Fu-Manchu’s Bride, The Insidious Fu Manchu, The Hand of Fu Manchu.

Must I reread these stories once again?

Thursday, June 13, 2019

Les mystères de l'opium #2

“Boy, another pipe. Sweet to me this chance.
And the airborne gold where sleep’s steps are muffled.
But no, stay o boy, don’t you hear,
The silent god who knocks at the ebony door?”

Paul-Jean Toulet, Les Contrerimes

Wednesday, June 12, 2019

Les mystères de l'opium

“And the least foolish, intrepid lovers of disorder,
Fleeing the heard restrained by Destiny,
Take refuge in Opium's vastness!”


Le Voyage


“More than fidelity, opium,

night,

I desire the elixir of your lips where love flaunts

itself”


Les Fleur du Mal

Charles Baudelaire

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

The Swoon of Sleep

I thought of eating the lotus of surcease and nepenthe in some enchanted nook of this bowering summer, where from my hut-door I could see through the pearl-hues of opium the sea-lagoon slaver lazily upon the old coral atoll, and the coconut-tree would droop like slumber, and the bread-fruit tree would moan in sweet and weary dream, and I should watch the Speranza lie anchored in the pale atoll-lake, year after year, and wonder what she was, and whence, and why she dozed so deep for ever, and after an age of melancholy peace and burdened bliss, I should note that sun and moon had ceased revolving, and hung inert, opening anon a heavy lid to doze and drowse again, and God would sigh 'Enough,' and nod, and Being would swoon to sleep."

The Purple Cloud, M. P. Shiel

Monday, January 2, 2017

When China was Young

And the rice prepared for him was hot and good, all the more after the bitter coldness of that sleet. And when he had consumed it her perused his experience, turning over again in his mind each detail of the cabs he had seen; and from that his thoughts slipped calmly to the glorious history of China, going back to the indecorous times before calmness came, and beyond those times to the happy days of the earth when the gods and dragons were here and China was young; and lighting his opium pipe and casting his thoughts easily forward he looked to the time when the dragons shall come again.

Tales of Three Hemispheres, Lord Dunsany

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

The Ghoulish Dr. Fu-Manchu-Evil Incarnate

"In the high-backed chair sat Dr. Fu-Manchu, wearing a green robe upon which was embroidered a design, the subject of which at first glance was not perceptible, but which presently I made out to be a huge white peacock. He wore a little cap perched upon the dome of his amazing skull, and with one clawish hand resting upon the ebony of the table, he sat slightly turned toward me, his emotionless face a mask of incredible evil. In spite of, or because of, the high intellect written upon it, the face of Dr. Fu-Manchu was more utterly repellent than any I have ever known, and the green eyes, eyes green as those of a cat in the darkness, which sometimes burned like witch lamps, and sometimes were horribly filmed like nothing human or imaginable, might have mirrored not a soul, but an emanation of hell, incarnate in this gaunt, high-shouldered body.

Always underlying the deliberate calm of the speaker, sometimes showing itself in an unusually deep guttural, sometimes in an unusually serpentine sibilance, lurked the frenzy of hatred which in the past had revealed itself occasionally in wild outbursts.

I glanced toward Fu-Manchu. He was watching Nayland Smith, and revealing his irregular yellow teeth—the teeth of an opium smoker—in the awful mirthless smile which I knew.

'God!" whispered Smith—"the Six Gates!'

'The knowledge of my beautiful country serves you well," replied Fu-Manchu gently.'"

Chapter 28, The Return of Dr. FU-Manchu, Sax Rohmer

Monday, June 13, 2016

In the Opium Den

A voice from a bunk had commenced to sing monotonously.

"Peyala peah," it sang, weird above the murmured accompaniment of the other dreaming smokers and the wash-wash of the tide—"To myn-na-peah-Phir Kysee ko kyah …"

"He is speaking from an opium-trance," said Stuart softly. "A native song: 'If a cup of wine is drunk, and I have drunk it, what of that?'"




The Buddhist Formula

" Again there was a weird interruption. A Chinaman lying in one of the bunks began to chant in a monotonous far-away voice:

"Chong-liou-chouay
Om mani padme hum."

"The Buddhist formula," whispered Stuart. "He is a real smoker." '




The Voice Moaning

'A moaning voice from one of the bunks came.

"Cheal kegur-men, mas ka dheer!"

"A native adage," whispered Stuart. "He is dreaming. 'There is always meat in a kite's nest.'"

"Eh bien! very true—and I think the kite is at home!" '

The Golden Scorpion