I have adapted a song from John Gay’s Beggar’s Opera today. It should probably be sung as a round.
Gay’s song, “The modes of the court so common are grown,” is based on a 17th Century English air, Lilliburlero, by Henry Purcell. It’s kind of catchy, I think.
The Heart of the World
(Sung to the tune of Lilliburlero, an English air)
The heart of the world so stony has grown,
I’ve dated pawnbrokers who feel more regret.
Love is like interest charged on a loan
Which Cupid can neither forgive nor forget.
It’s true, you may find
A person more kind,
Who knows the right night twelve roses to send:
He’ll sack you a city,
He’ll plunder with pity,
If lucky he’ll fuck you from end to end.
(Repeat.)
2 comments:
Perhpas, Leopold Bloom could whistle this...
Hope you are well. "When the chestnut spreads its flambeaux" said a Shropshire poet. The candles are waning in the summer heat over here!
Hi Eshu!
It has been pretty violently warm over here, too. I don't mind the heat though. I am a creature of the summer.
I have been off working on a short story, which might be a bit up your street, since it is about the interpretation (or, in this case, the wildly comic mis-interpretation) of race, gender and homosexuality in literary texts.
It's sort of fruit salad of influences, but the main character is a decent, but slightly demented, A.E. Housman. If you are familiar with the work of poetry scholar Charles Kinbote, you get idea.
It has been fun writing, in that way marathons are fun for marathon runners: I have been wandering around New York in foil blanket, dizzy and dazed, glad the damn thing is done. I wrote 5000 words in the last week alone. The whole piece is 6500 words.
It's for a gay short story competition with a looming deadline.
I hope to resume my regular blogging soon.
Thanks for being such a faithful friend and reader.
All the best,
Eric
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