Hi everyone-who-reads-this,
First of all, I want to thank everyone who reads my humble writings. This is because I know some of you may want to stay away from that after you read the following poem, which is not entirely written by me.
Second, I have to emphasize just how much I love the writer and the poem this one is satirically parodying. This is because I know that out there are some gentle flowers who get easily offended.
Thirdly, I hope that, despite all I’ve said above, you still like this work which was in my thought for quite some time, and today it is finally realized.
A disclaimer: I am not aware of similar works, nor do I associate with them. I haven’t checked if there are any, because, well, I’m kind of lazy, and, I think this one differs, at least somewhat.
Enjoy the poem. Don’t forget to like and share.
I would love to hear your thoughts on it. Have I stayed true to the original? Do you find it literary blasphemous? Does it strike a nerve? Do tell.
And, as always, cheers and happy reading!
Sincerely,
Mary Matshine
THE MYNAH1
Once upon a midnight boredom, while I nodded, high and sordid,
Over many a naked and morbid ladies of The Hefner’s Hall —
While I nodded, nearly rapping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently… tapping, tapping at my bedroom door.
„Tis some visitor,“ I uttered, „tapping at my bedroom door —
Only this and nothing more.“
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the warm September;
And each separate crying treble wrought its rhythm on the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow
From my Mac surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Backdoor —
For the rare and radiant sphincter whom the angels named Backdoor —
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, rad, uncertain rustling of one yellow curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic tremors never felt before;
So that now, to still the greetings of my organ, I stood beating
“Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my bedroom door —
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my bedroom door; —
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my pole grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “Madam, or Whatever — your insecurities I ignore;
But the fact is I was… napping, and so gently you came tapping,
And so faintly you came rapping, rapping at my bedroom door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, dreaming,
Doubting, squeezing squeezes no mortal ever dared to squeeze before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Backdoor?”
This I whispered, and a roommate murmured too, “Backdoor!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the bedroom turning, all my blood within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my part be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
“Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter with many a splintered clutter, when
In here stepped ignoble Mynah of the nowadays of snore;
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a chest of J. Love’s just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this bluish bird beguiling my lad-fancy into smiling,
By the knave and kern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and spiny, thou,” I said, “art sure so whiny
Vastly fat and recent Mynah wandering from the Copy shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Copy’s Pastonian shore!”
Quoth the Mynah “Pay for More.”
Much I marvelled this banning fowl to hear discourse in planning,
Though its answer little granting — little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured breasts above his chamber door,
Without the name “Pay for More.”
But the Mynah, sitting lonely on the titillated teats, spoke only
Those words as if her soul with those words she sold long ago.
Nothing farther then she muttered — not a feather then she fluttered —
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before —
On the morrow she will leave me, as my Whores have flown before.”
Then the bird said, “Pay for More.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some gleeful merchant whom unmerciful Production
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that enthusiastic burden bore
Of ‘Free to — Pay for More’.”
But the Mynah still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bosom and door;
Then, upon the pleather sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of snore —
What this knave and kern, fat, and ominous bird of snore
Meant in croaking “Pay for More.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose watery eyes now starred plainly into my chest’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s pleather lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose pleather-beige lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She would press if I, ah, paid for more!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-balls tinkled on the linoleum floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy god hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Backdoor;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and give me this lost Backdoor!”
Quoth the Mynah, “Pay for More.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Populated and all daunted, on this plentiful land enchanted —
On this home by Money haunted — tell me truly, I implore —
Is there — is there balm in Dogecoin? — tell me — tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Mynah, “Pay for More.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends beneath us — by that god we both adore —
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a tainted maiden whom the angels name Backdoor —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Backdoor.”
Quoth the Mynah, “Pay for More.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Copy Pastonian’s shore!
Leave no blue plume as a token of that dread thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bewbs above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Mynah, “Pay for More.”
And the Mynah still is sitting, bill is sitting, still is sitting
Upon the valid chest of Love, just above my chamber door;
And her eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er her streaming throws the shadow on the floor;
And white soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be li… Pay for More!
1. Original: THE RAVEN, Edgar Allan Poe (my first literary love, a big influencer of my writing, and a truly awesome innovative king of American Romanticism)
Words of a Feather 