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"Mow, mow, mow your beau. . ." - De File
Does Collecting Make You Feel Dirty?
cbertsch
cbertsch
"Mow, mow, mow your beau. . ."
For all those who love the smell of newly cut grass, I present Andrew Marvell, "The Mower's Song":
My mind was once the true survey
Of all these meadows fresh and gay,
And in the greenness of the grass
Did see its hopes as in a glass;
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts and me.

But these, while I with sorrow pine,
Grew more luxuriant still and fine,
That not one blade of grass you spied,
But had a flower on either side;
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts and me.

Unthankful meadows, could you so
A fellowship so true forego,
And in your gaudy May-games meet,
While I lay trodden under feet?
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts and me.

But what you in compassion ought,
Shall now by my revenge be wrought:
And flow'rs, and grass, and I and all,
Will in one common ruin fall.
For Juliana comes, and she
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts and me.

And thus, ye meadows, which have been
Companions of my thoughts more green,
Shall now the heraldry become
With which I will adorn my tomb;
For Juliana comes, and she
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts and me.
I suppose I should fear the newly shorn lawn, given my various allergies. But I remember the Pennsylvania twilight too well, when the passage from light to dark lasted longer than it had any right too and my footsteps traced imaginary baseball games amid the blades that would not be scooped, evidence of a ritual slaughter all the sweeter for its savagery.

Mode: mowed down
Muse: take a wild guess!

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Comments
yourbestfiend From: yourbestfiend Date: January 25th, 2005 09:19 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
sigh! love those metaphysics and their castration anxieties. now, where's my sickle?
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: January 25th, 2005 10:06 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
Sometimes being cut down to size makes for a perfect fit. . .
From: sittinginaroom Date: January 25th, 2005 11:58 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)

Sadly . . .

I harbor affection for neither sports nor lawn care, and cannot share in the fond memories. My recollection of playing sports is mostly painful, and my experience at baseball games mostly awkward.

I do loves me some Andrew Marvell, though.
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: January 26th, 2005 06:52 am (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)

Re: Sadly . . .

Understood. But I was talking about playing sports with myself. We lived in the middle of nowhere. I was the whole team. And its opponent.
elizabeg From: elizabeg Date: January 26th, 2005 08:59 am (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)

Re: Sadly . . .

Somehow, I really like your formulation here, at least aesthetically or something, strange as that is. Makes me sound so unsympathetic....

To win over my jock boys last quarter, I tried to lead this weird discussion of offensive/defensive rhetoric. Very Goalie's Anxiety at the Penalty Kick. But not.

The only sport I've ever been able to handle is downhill skiing and that never got me anywhere on the playground.
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