Casanova in Venice: A Raunchy Rhyme by Kildare DobbsCasanova in Venice: A Raunchy Rhyme by Kildare Dobbs

Casanova in Venice: A Raunchy Rhyme

byKildare Dobbs

Paperback | November 1, 2010

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Re-visit the life of history's most notorious lover, from childhood to Casanova's daring escape from the State Inquisition's prison. Using eighteenth-century poetic conventions that Casanova himself would have cherished, Kildare Dobbs infuses this renegade's legacy with a modern, witty and very hilarious bite.

Kildare Dobbs is an award-winning writer and poet who has lived the world over. Born in 1923, in India, Dobbs was raised in Ireland, and educated in Dublin, Cambridge and London. After serving in the Royal Navy during World War II and in East Africa, Dobbs finally migrated to Canada in 1952 and worked in journalism and publishing. His ...
Title:Casanova in Venice: A Raunchy RhymeFormat:PaperbackDimensions:80 pages, 8.75 × 5.65 × 0.28 inPublished:November 1, 2010Publisher:Porcupine's QuillLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0889843325

ISBN - 13:9780889843325

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Read from the Book

Giacomo Casanova Economy in pleasure is not to my taste. Awake my lute! and trumpets blow for one who never could say No! so powerful his virile charm a wench would catch him by the arm and pull him down to kiss and fondle her in the seclusion of a gondola. This was a man so much traduced -- though less seducer than seduced -- called monster of Venetian lust for whom good Christians had disgust Of all his scolds himself the worst since in old age he'd boast and curse, accuse himself, though not to blame for playing Nature's sweetest game with naughty females after dinner. God hates the sin but loves the sinner, he told himself, so seized the day, or rather night, and sinned away and thus assured of heavenly love delighted in each raunchy move. The flame of amorous desire flares briefly like a straw-fed fire and just as briefly flickers out. We wonder: What was that about? Why did we sigh and lose our sleep and hold our dignity so cheap? For certain, every nubile dame rolled in the sack is much the same. Often our man was set to wed but freedom was his choice instead: It's fine to have a loving wife -- but penile servitude for life? No way! But more, it would be rash to keep a woman without cash. For he too often lacked the ready -- Poet, wait up a moment, steady! Whom do we speak of? Name the man, describe his person if you can. Time has pronounced him lovers' king, at board and bed the hottest thing whose charm no female could resist -- onto her back as soon as kissed! Con artist first of all the crew, both con in French and English too. He would be handsome, said a peer, were he not ugly, And we hear smallpox had scarred his cheeks along; complexion sallow; features strong; in person very tough and wiry, in temperament vengeful and fiery. Called vain -- the accusation's phony for what he was, was Macaroni. He wore such clothes as would assure a repute for la bella figura; moreover those who called him vain had no idea of his brain. Opulent people almost never believe a semi-pauper clever. If you're so smart, sneers Mistress Bitch, (through golden teeth) how come not rich? I have to interrupt once more, give us the name, I must implore! Maybe we know him, maybe not, but please don't put us on the spot. Be straight with us and play the game -- all we're demanding is the name. His Christian names, if you must know, were Giacomo Hieronimo, his last -- I've worked the subject over but can't find rhymes for Casanova. except the cockney one displayed -- and I'm not cockney, I'm afraid. New House, it means, this patronymic, some joker must have found this gimmick, as if he said, Heigh ho! my nasty nature can institute a dynasty.

Editorial Reviews

`This sequence of poems is a lot of fun: witty, clever, inventive and, like the best light verse, reflective and surprising. Rather than dwelling pruriently on fantasies of the erotic suggested by the received notion of `Casanova', these nineteen poems offer the leisurely companionship of a learned, slightly raffish and generous narrator. He is somewhat self-conscious, but worldly wise and entirely affable. The metrical form, ottava rima, is challenging, and while multisyllabic rhymes are not easy in English, one quickly (`fondle her ... gondola') senses the relish in the telling of the tale. Gusto as the expression of intensity brings conviction to the vibrant descriptions of Venice (`empire of the money bag'). The moonlit city sleeps sublimely. Giacomo is free and exalted. The Memoirs are to be found and read.'