The White Buffalo Bar at the Gage Hotel was hopping last night. There were tourists from Illinois and Massachusetts, several bikers (always), and a group of a dozen some ladies marking a friend’s birthday. We were enjoying pre-dinner drinks when a random man stood up and announced, “Attention, please! I have something important to say.” His look was urgent so the room grew suddenly silent.
“I just proposed to this beautiful woman,” he began, “and she said yes. To celebrate, I’d like to buy you all a drink.” We clapped hands and cheered. Of course! One of the biker guys walked over to the soon-to-be-groom and shook his hand. “Congratulations, man” while the group of ladies who were beginning to feel their margaritas began to sing “Chapel of Love.” (Click the link!) How fun was that! Ok, I admit, you probably had to be there …. but it does take us back to William Blake.
Blake is a slippery fellow. His poems begin here but before you know it you’re there and sometimes you’re not sure where there is. In “The Garden of Love,” we begin with a chapel constructed where the speaker “used to play on the green” and soon we’re staring at clergy and death and theological restriction.
But, really William! Life can just be fun, too—margaritas, a marriage proposal and a round of “Chapel of Love.”