Surely the lady who could resist such a heartfelt announcement of love must have no soul? How could any who has ever loved, or felt that tender fluttering of the heart that betokens affection, passionate or otherwise, be strong enough to deny him his oats? especially when he reminds her that, ‘Even the sun goes down’. But it seems that this lady friend is, somewhat bizarrely, reluctant to consummate their relationship – so Mr Rhino needs to up the ante, subtly and does so in quite possibly the most brilliant and persuasive piece of poetry I have yet to encounter: In fact that is the single most sexually menacing pronunciation of the word ‘lemonade’ ever. Anyway over the kind of Neanderthal stomp that the Young brothers patented back in the Jurassic age, Mr Rhino^^ begs his coy mistress for a slice, in no uncertain terms: However I need to confess to you all that I only own this track on MP3 (hangs head down), I know I’m sorry I’ve let you all down here. Rhino Bucket are, of course, equally inspiring. What could be more inspiring (or true) than Marvell’s final assertion that his mistress and he need to rise up, get with the programme It’s wonderful stuff, perfectly phrased and constructed image-on-image, my own favourite is his reference to ‘vegetable love’ – now I’m a broad-minded sort of fellow but I swear I’ve not had a go at that^. I’m paraphrasing, but basically it’s time to put out, or lose out.
As Marvell says, he’d gladly spend hundreds of years on courtship but over his shoulder he can always hear, ‘time’s winged chariot, hurrying near’ and whilst the grave is a ‘fine and private place/ But none, I think, do there embrace’. ‘To His Coy Mistress’ being a brilliant case in point, Marvell begging and pleading with his recalcitrant chick in order to get his nut.
#Discogs deathmetal greatest hits full
Now as a lit dude I’m big on 17th century English metaphysical poets**, that point where they really move into full self-expression and deal with some rather more risqué topics than English poetry had before.
It took another 1/2 mile and I got it, Andrew Marvell’s poem ‘To His Coy Mistress’ of course! That plaintive entreaty to a bashful paramour, a plea to one so virtuous to open her heart* to all you have to give of love. My ‘Jog, Piggy! Jog!’ playlist picked out Rhino Bucket ‘Even The Sun Goes Down’ and as I obsessively listened to it 5 times in a row, I contemplated the song’s deeper message and wondered where I had heard its’ ilk before. It came to me this morning, as most of better ideas do, when I was running, an idea to bring a little culture and class into your tawdry lives.
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