I have a rare gift that those closest to me are well aware of and no doubt truly admire, for when I share my gift with them, I see nothing but the wide-eyed, open-mouthed looks of sheer astonishment. I choose to believe this is admirable astonishment instead of the more-likely OMG-is-she-serious-what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-her scenario.
This gift is the gift of parody, as anyone who has heard my "I'm Peeing" song from the other side of the bathroom door (sung to the tune of Peter Pan's "I'm Flying") or any of the repertoire songs I have for my dog, Chloe (my favorite being "D.O.G." sung to 50 Cent's "P.I.M.P") can attest.
That's why this week's poem is the parody, which is meant to be humorous to entertain the audience, but are also designed to make people think. A parody poem is, obviously, a parody of a poem, but there are other types of parody out there, including songs like the ones that both I and Weird Al Yankovic sing or movies, including "Scary Movie."
I was originally going to parody my absolute favorite poem of all time - "Richard Cory" by Edwin Arlington Robinson (which I still have memorized and have been known to do a dramatic reading of) but then realized that I don't even want to taint the brilliance of that poem, so I chose a well-known one by Elizabeth Barrett Browning that I thought I could have fun with. It's helpful to read the original before you read the parody, so here's Browning's version:
How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways...
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
This gift is the gift of parody, as anyone who has heard my "I'm Peeing" song from the other side of the bathroom door (sung to the tune of Peter Pan's "I'm Flying") or any of the repertoire songs I have for my dog, Chloe (my favorite being "D.O.G." sung to 50 Cent's "P.I.M.P") can attest.
That's why this week's poem is the parody, which is meant to be humorous to entertain the audience, but are also designed to make people think. A parody poem is, obviously, a parody of a poem, but there are other types of parody out there, including songs like the ones that both I and Weird Al Yankovic sing or movies, including "Scary Movie."
I was originally going to parody my absolute favorite poem of all time - "Richard Cory" by Edwin Arlington Robinson (which I still have memorized and have been known to do a dramatic reading of) but then realized that I don't even want to taint the brilliance of that poem, so I chose a well-known one by Elizabeth Barrett Browning that I thought I could have fun with. It's helpful to read the original before you read the parody, so here's Browning's version:
How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways...
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
And my version:
How Do I Loathe Thee? It's In So Many Ways...
How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways.
I loathe thee more than the 36-24-36 width and height
Your body has reached. For most, it’s out of sight
Like the perfect hue of your bleach-blond hair and acne-free face.
I loathe thee pretty much every day
Whether in class or in the hallway’s light.
I loathe thee secretly, as boys ask you out every night;
I loathe thee resentfully, as I sit by the phone for days.
I loathe thee with a passion of no real use;
It’s because of my own insecurities, and childish ways.
I loathe thee with a hate I can’t seem to lose
With my lost youth, — I loathe thee with the breath,
Frowns, tears, of all my life! — and, if I choose,
I shall but loathe thee because of simple envy to my death.
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