Nearly forgot the poetry!

(Yes, I know National Poetry Month is actually an American thang, but I don’t care.)

John Donne: ‘THE BAIT

COME live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines and silver hooks.

There will the river whisp’ring run
Warm’d by thy eyes, more than the sun ;
And there th’ enamour’d fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.

When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

If thou, to be so seen, be’st loth,
By sun or moon, thou dark’nest both,
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.

Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset,
With strangling snare, or windowy net.

Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest ;
Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes’ wand’ring eyes.

For thee, thou need’st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait :
That fish, that is not catch’d thereby,
Alas ! is wiser far than I.

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3 Responses to Nearly forgot the poetry!

  1. Tony.T says:

    Don’t gimme none o’ that poetic license stuff, but love doesn’t rhyme with prove. Groove, though, now that would fit.

  2. Sharon says:

    Are you lecturing JOHN DONNE on how to write poetry? I’m shocked at your lack of proper reverence. ;)

    But groove, yeah.

  3. Nabakov says:

    One of the many brillant little touches that made McKelllan’s “Dick 3” an all time great Shakespeare screen adaption was setting Marlowe’s “Come live with me and be my love” to a big band arrangement, delivered at a late 30s Royal pissup to celebrate a battle.

    Hmm. I just realised we’re actually looking at Preacher Donne’s melancoholy mashup of Kit’s riff. Whatever point I going to make next now doesn’t one.

    Fuck it. I’m a Johnny Wilmot man m’self. But I presume you’d like to keep this a work-safe blog, so I’ll refrain from posting any Rochestering posey. Incidentally, having just reread Graham Greene’s beautifully researched, written and illustrated bio of young John, I’m struck by how much Rochester has the same facial features and posing attitude as a mid-sixties pop star. In terms of physiogamy alone, think Jagger meets Winwood.

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