I tried to send this reply to Elhorr’s great Marlowe quote yesterday, but it disintegrated just as I attempted to post it. (“My Doom hath come upon me,” I cried, shedding onion-peeling tears like the fabled Lady of Shallots.).
Doesn’t quite fit with today’s action, but here’s an effort at its reconstruction:
“Come live with Tom, but be my love, And I will through the trash heaps move. For alleys, troves, and landfilled fields, A bounty of fine garbage yields.
And you will open up a box, That holds your chains, with opened locks. Each day, your Knight will bring you all, The art-junk that to me befalls.
That you may sculpt with clawless toeses, Abstract or realistic poses, To fill your bowers from thoughts fertile: (…Is that an owl, boring a turtle?
Two clowns, a savant and vainglorious fool, Who from cracked beak is dripping drool, From whom our tiny friends once fled, But now is old, and naught to dread…)
I’ll bring thee stuff for fancy duds, To vanquish Tusslemania studs. Yes, I will all the trash heaps move, That my devotion I may prove.
Though in the wild you can’t subside, Yet I would wish you my soul’s bride. Your Woman and dear friend await; Yet, wilt thou be my steady date?
The Robber Mice and Birds will sing, Each morn, as to my Love I’ll bring, New junk to please my Turtledove. Please live with Tom, but be my love.”
I tried to send this reply to Elhorr’s great Marlowe quote yesterday, but it disintegrated just as I attempted to post it. (“My Doom hath come upon me,” I cried, shedding onion-peeling tears like the fabled Lady of Shallots.).
Doesn’t quite fit with today’s action, but here’s an effort at its reconstruction:
“Come live with Tom, but be my love, And I will through the trash heaps move. For alleys, troves, and landfilled fields, A bounty of fine garbage yields.
And you will open up a box, That holds your chains, with opened locks. Each day, your Knight will bring you all, The art-junk that to me befalls.
That you may sculpt with clawless toeses, Abstract or realistic poses, To fill your bowers from thoughts fertile: (…Is that an owl, boring a turtle?
Two clowns, a savant and vainglorious fool, Who from cracked beak is dripping drool, From whom our tiny friends once fled, But now is old, and naught to dread…)
I’ll bring thee stuff for fancy duds, To vanquish Tusslemania studs. Yes, I will all the trash heaps move, That my devotion I may prove.
Though in the wild you can’t subside, Yet I would wish you my soul’s bride. Your Woman and dear friend await; Yet, wilt thou be my steady date?
The Robber Mice and Birds will sing, Each morn, as to my Love I’ll bring, New junk to please my Turtledove. Please live with Tom, but be my love.”