Another fun idea generator (theft) is to grab a song or poem that you like or just know well and swap out some words or phrases to ‘parody’ some other idea. It beats coming up with everything on your own. While only moderately impressed with EA Poe’s needy, greedy body of work, i do lean in on his so-called ‘last poem.’ It’s great for high schoolers, ‘cuz it’s atmospheric, complex, and freakin’ nuts. I would read this aloud to a class, gathering speed, until i was red-faced and spittling. Wot fun.
Those Bells
!. Hear the horses with their bells— Jingle bells! Signifiying Christmastime, they're better'n cowbells! How they jingle, jingle, jingle, While the beasts stay on the track! While the cold wind does its thingy All my fingers no more tingle Now I feel like a coatrack; Beating them, again, Against the wooden bench, To the tinnitus and throbbing that so painfully swells Frozen bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, those bells— Frozen jingling, endless jingling of those bells. $$. Hear the house of worship bells, Booming bells! What a world of high tithing their insistency compels! Through the high mass at midnight How they test their acolytes! From the comfortable halls, And please stay calm, While they got you by the wall(et) To the altar boy with baskets, for your right To bear alms! Oh, from out of the pulpit, What a gush of old phonies look like old hypocrites! How they smell! How they dwell Upon finance! Does it help To 'charge' more than they can 'sell'? To the bingeing and the cringing Of those bells, bells, bells, Of those bells, bells, bells, bells, And more bells— To the remand and the demand of those bells! $$$. Hear sudden telephone bells— Brazen balls! What crock of wonders, with their hard-sell sales calls! To the startled bread winner How they interrupt dinner! Too much garrulous to hear, They can only sneer 'Sir', In my ear, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of my cash, In a slick appropriation of my dwindling, poor stash, Calling again, again, again, Let me take it in the den, Become a charity member Hey, how'd you get this number? By the front of the living room Oh, door bells, more bells! What a sale the students sell Fund Raising! How they smile, and ask for more! What a story at my door While the carolers also expect something! Yet the bank it fully knows, By the debits, And the credits, How the budget ebbs and flows; Yet the bank distinctly tells, In the expense, Of the statements. How the budget sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the number of those bills— Of those bills— Of those bills, bills, bills, bills, Bills, bills, bills— In correcting and collecting of those bills! !$. Hear the totaling of these bells— Cashier bells! What a stupid spending spree their long receipt retells! In the chaos of the mall, How we shiver in thermals At the condescending toy-sound of Ka-ching! For every sack that's stuffed With pajamas and earmuffs Is parting. And the censors—so much tenser— They that picket at the Spencer's Some marching. And who strolling, trolling, rolling, In that short dress--eye catching, Feel it's boring to be standing Waiting in line for Santa— Elves are neither man nor woman— Elves are neither cute nor Tolkein— They are Temps: Their 'head elf' it is controls; And he trolls, trolls, trolls, Trolls The long line from the elves! And his merry elf hat points To the next one he anoints! And he dances like he's twelve; Clocking overtime, On the shopping mall's fat dime, To the lineup of those elves— Of those elves: It's so asinine, He let short dress cut the line, To the winking of those elves— Of those elves, elves, elves— To the blinking of those elves; Keeping us in line, As he speaks, then spells, He can't even say your name, To the laughing of those elves— Of those elves, elves, elves— To the charging for photos, From those elves, elves, elves, elves— Elves, elves, elves— From the abuse of those obtuse little elves.
Whew. That took a minute. Original songwriting, it turns out, can be easier than stealing. I even think some of that was pretty good, though i’m not sure why i set in in 1991 (telemarketers? a phone extension in the den? the mall?). Now, as to its musicality… much has been made of the original Poe-m. I’ve even mentioned the cool folk Phil Ochs song of it in this blog before. Now i’ve discovered an Alan Parsons Project take on it–cuts fewer lines, though it is sonorous in its churchiness. I don’t believe i’ve ruined the musicality of the text by relieving myself on it. It plays itself.