Words by Heathcote Williams. Narration and montage by Mary Wild
“The grave’s a fine and private place”
Said the metaphysical Andrew Marvell,
“But none I think do there embrace.”
He was denying what lovers know well:
That their powerful feelings can so overwhelm
They can feel themselves to be immortal –
Their imagination tells them love lasts forever:
It becomes erotically charged, and fertile.
For after dreaming of each other while sleeping
It’s a short step from dream-beings to spirits –
To being spirits that weave in and out of each other
Where, freed of their bodies, there are no limits.
As they’ve experienced disembodied love in life
They can embrace the same notion again:
Sparkling with stardust; their smoke-like spirits
Eat ghostly lotuses and sip spectral champagne.
Two spirits charged up in life with orgone energy
Now glow with a deep blue light as they fuse.
Flame-throwing kundalinis shoot out of their heads.
Clouds of transcendent love are on the loose.
To lovers it stands to reason that love is immortal
So why shouldn’t celestial orgasms lie in store?
Why shouldn’t the purpose of life be divine fore-play
And the dreaded grave be an erotic trap-door…?
When Milton spoke of “the copulation of angels”
And King Lear said, “Let copulation thrive!”
They were praising the way that the life-force
Puts pay to death with love’s sexual drive.