From this viewpoint, coverage of the Australian Open has been very well done and highly entertaining. But frankly, I will be grateful if I never again hear that poem from the Melbourne tourism commercial.
I can’t particularly comment on the quality of the poem, as I’m not much of a poet myself–though it doesn’t strike me as anything particularly special–but I’m being driven nuts by the voice of the woman reading the damn thing.
It’s odd, because generally I’m somewhat fond of folks talking in an Australian (or New Zealand, which is close but not quite the same) accent. But I find that woman’s delivery to be really grating. It’s just too precious and cloying, how she reads that poem; I just want to get as far away from her as possible. And considering that the whole point of the commerical is to draw people to Melbourne, I’m going to declare that effort a failure.
This is highly ironic, because when I was watching the first few days of the tournament, I found myself resolving to make it to Melbourne some day to attend the Open in person. Then the bombardment of that commercial started, and I find myself substantially less inclined to make that journey.
Considering other failures of the medium, I’m thinking it’s time that all advertisers declare a moratorium on including poetry in their commercials. You’re annoying enough as it is, folks; don’t try to pretend that you’re artistic as well.
The Disgruntled Fan Report 
…that poem is killing me: especially the woman’s voice right at the end….really hangs on the last word…..waaaay overdone. I’m muting the TV every time it airs (which is 20 times an evening) but I can still hear it in my mind. ughhh
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First, thanks for visiting the DFR.
I wholeheartedly agree. That commercial is crazy-making. The only thing you missed is that it’s the same commercial as last year; they’ve been inflicting that cloying nightmare on us two years in a row. Painful.
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Couldn’t agree with you more. Precious, cloying, nauseating, pretentious, simpering, moaning, saccharine drivel. It’s not JUST the delivery, but that delivery really does make me notice how affectedly overearnest that cheesy little poem is capable of sounding, while mercilessly killing any of its residual tolerability. How many more years are they going to ruin the Open’s coverage with this commercial and its relentless bombardment of cringe? It makes me not want to visit Melbourne either. God help the place if they’re all that overbearingly sappy. Beautiful scenery is common; nobody needs to travel to Melbourne for “bush beuhhds colling at the dorning of the day” Gag! Cool people with a sense of humour and adventure are what give a place character. Not people who talk like a Hallmark card.
“….And delight!” (sob!)
Melbourne. Come and discover just how far your testosterone levels can plunge.
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Wow. I think this struck a nerve. Very good critique.
Thanks for stopping by the DFR.
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I guess hearing it way over a hundred times last January and again dozens of times this year took its toll…. Somewhere between the umpteenth and last time, I started hearing it more or less as,
“Let me feel the semen spatter,
Taste the salt, dick-driven spray;
Let me rub my bush curds raw
And take a reaming at the crack of day.
Let me dance on dyke bars, screaming, Spread my ass cheeks, air my choad*; And o’er you all, release this steaming, Putrescent marvel of a load.”
*(just a grotesquely swollen perineum, I presume)
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I applaud your creative effort. However, I feel obligated to suggest that you don’t read it at your neighborhood cafe’s next poetry open mike. Something tells me it won’t go over nearly as well there.
Thanks for visiting the DFR.
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p.s. I looked up the original. It’s not all that terrible. I think you’re right: the main drawback is the voice — with its breathy grunts of sphincter-spasming pleasure.
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Damn I hate it too.
Her “delight” ending is like nails on a chalkboard
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