So here's a weird one for today - two Renaissance poems and two surf songs that have a call and response relationship.
What's so fantastic about this is how distinct the poets' agendas are from each other, and how different their approaches.
And even better is how this sort of pastoral, bucolic nature poetry written by citizens of dirty, soiled, crowded cities gets reflected in the ideal, unnatural world of California beaches written by men too busy or agoraphobic to get out in the water.
So here you have it - four centuries of people loving nature but really just the idea of nature, not so much the being in nature.
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
Christopher Marlowe
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant poises,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
The shepherds's swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd
Sir Walter Raleigh
If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complain of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.
But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.
Surfer Girl
Brian Wilson
Little surfer little one
Made my heart come all undone
Do you love me, do you surfer girl?
Surfer girl, my little surfer girl
I have watched you on the shore
Standing by the ocean's roar
Do you love me, do you surfer girl?
Surfer girl, surfer girl
We could ride the surf together
While our love would grow
In my Woody I would take you
everywhere I go
So I say from me to you
I will make your dreams come true
Do you love me, do you surfer girl?
Surfer girl, my little surfer girl
Girl surfer girl, my little surfer girl...
Surfer Girl Replies
Terry Scott Taylor
You're the ride through
troubled waters
on tidal waves of
wayward daughters
Who is your saint?
Who is your martyr?
Who'll be your surfer girl?
Who'll sail on arks of
nails and lumber?
Who'll bear a cross of
nails and lumber?
"Who'll walk the plank?" the
angels wonder,
"Who'll be your surfer girl?"
Break me beneath the breakers
Save me, my Lord and Savior
Take me though there
are no takers
In, not of the world,
I'll be your Surfer Girl
You're the ride through
troubled waters
on tidal waves of
wayward daughters
I am no saint, I
am no martyr
but I'll be your surfer girl
I'll be your surfer girl....
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