Well, there seems to be some demand for more silliness from me, but sadly my archived material of this is almost all gone. One poem I can remember is a parody of a poem that I studied back in the old classroom days of English Literature, entitled Hungry Ghost - It was a beautiful poem and I mean it no disrespect, and, I hope the author doesn’t mind my posting it here for admiration and comparison. Needless to say my inherent desire to interpret things as literally as possible led to my somewhat deconstructing the whole thing into a childish farce.
Here is the original poem.
Hungry Ghost
By Debjani Chatterjee
Here is the original poem.
Hungry Ghost
By Debjani Chatterjee
Today I went shopping with my father
after many years. I felt I was back
in time to when I’d follow grandfather
to the market, smelling the spicy scents,
drinking the sights and mingling with the shouts.
Neither buyer nor seller, I would float
like a restless spirit, hungry for life.
after many years. I felt I was back
in time to when I’d follow grandfather
to the market, smelling the spicy scents,
drinking the sights and mingling with the shouts.
Neither buyer nor seller, I would float
like a restless spirit, hungry for life.
The market is bigger. I have grown too.
There are more goods as distances have shrunk.
The prices are higher. I understand
about money and, alas, its bondage
of buyers and sellers. Almost I wish
I was again that hungry ghost, watchful
and floating through the world’s noisy bazaar.
And here is my somewhat less erudite version.
Hungry Ghost
By Mercer
I wandered lonely as a ghost,
looking for a piece of toast.
A bit of ham, a piece of cheese;
Won’t somebody feed me please?
I’ll eat chicken, I’ll eat liver,
I’ll eat fresh fish from the river.
All these things I like the most,
because I am, a hungry ghost.
I’ve no idea why I remember that word for word, just sticks in my head I suppose. I used to write silly things like that all the time in my school days, and it is the silly poems I miss the most now. I am often too serious, too weary and worn down, too bloody miserable, really. It is difficult to write with such naivety and stupidity but, I hope that I can start pulling a few little oddities out of my hat for you. It was writing silly verse such as the above that really got me into poetry in the first place, really and were it not for my school hours idled away scrawling in my exercise books when I should have been working, this tumblr may not exist. If I find any old and silly poems such as these, I promise I shall share them because, while my older serious works are a bit of an embarrassment to me, my stupidity still makes me chuckle and fills me with a warm nostalgic glow. It reminds me of why I do this. Because words are fun to play with, they are exciting and odd and you can do wondrous things with them, whether you are making people laugh, making people think, or, indeed, making people cry. Communication is a marvelous gift.
There are more goods as distances have shrunk.
The prices are higher. I understand
about money and, alas, its bondage
of buyers and sellers. Almost I wish
I was again that hungry ghost, watchful
and floating through the world’s noisy bazaar.
And here is my somewhat less erudite version.
Hungry Ghost
By Mercer
I wandered lonely as a ghost,
looking for a piece of toast.
A bit of ham, a piece of cheese;
Won’t somebody feed me please?
I’ll eat chicken, I’ll eat liver,
I’ll eat fresh fish from the river.
All these things I like the most,
because I am, a hungry ghost.
I’ve no idea why I remember that word for word, just sticks in my head I suppose. I used to write silly things like that all the time in my school days, and it is the silly poems I miss the most now. I am often too serious, too weary and worn down, too bloody miserable, really. It is difficult to write with such naivety and stupidity but, I hope that I can start pulling a few little oddities out of my hat for you. It was writing silly verse such as the above that really got me into poetry in the first place, really and were it not for my school hours idled away scrawling in my exercise books when I should have been working, this tumblr may not exist. If I find any old and silly poems such as these, I promise I shall share them because, while my older serious works are a bit of an embarrassment to me, my stupidity still makes me chuckle and fills me with a warm nostalgic glow. It reminds me of why I do this. Because words are fun to play with, they are exciting and odd and you can do wondrous things with them, whether you are making people laugh, making people think, or, indeed, making people cry. Communication is a marvelous gift.
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