Some Literature

So I'm working on this English project and its about the Modernist era, for those unfamiliar (lucky people who have a life beyond school) allow me to explain: We are basically talking about the years following WWI when everyone was for the most part depressed as far as poetry goes. Our assignment was to rewrite a romantic period poem and make it gothic modern. Its a re-creation of Percy Shelley's Ode to the West Wind. I like his poetry but I am more in love with his wife's work. (Mary Shelley who wrote Frankenstein). But here ya go, it took me a few hours but I finally came up with the finished product. hope you enjoy!

 

Dear Mr. Chesterfield, I guess it’s lucky I have no wife

None closer to me than the box in my coat pocket

None to linger on with me in agony and strife

No picture in some special locket

It’s unfortunate that my life was not the price of resolution

I pay fifteen cents to stay sane

Instead of dying like my comrades for our constitution

No, I’m still here every day mundane

Though the wind howls like a vile banshee in the night

Still I stand at the grim train station

That’s when the woman walked up to me asking for a light

Unfortunately she started the conversation

I don’t get stuck on every woman I meet and talk to

But she could not be compared to a summer’s day

A beautiful presence that demanded attention

But she was Maya and therefore not to stay

She was an illusion, everything she said a lie

I have no future further then picking up Mr. Chester everyday

I could never provide a decent life, I was not her guy

And yet I concentrated on everything she’d say

It’s just like me to see a pretty woman

Talk to her about art and imagine us middle aisle

But obviously she was too swanky

I was most certainly in denial.

But that was the case all too revolting to view

Her beauty was false, just there to torment me

Like long ago when I used to sit in a pew

There false women came, two or three

Every time she smiled at something I said

The wives of Thomas, Jim, and Fred

I saw their faces, and my stomach rips

The ones they lived for died for them

This woman represents that sorrow

She said she was going north

Things here today and gone tomorrow

As she spoke she swayed back and forth

Yes Mr. Chesterfield you are all I need

I failed and didn’t die when I should

It’s better that I didn’t pass on my seed

My friends died in front of me and there I stood

Shadows creep over the roof as the train slowly passes

The woman thanked me and went aboard

I nodded and adjusted my glasses.

Promptly after the train left the rain poured

So cruel, so unyielding, and almost with disdain

For those with no home, no roof, no comfort

But one little box keeps my thoughts plain

When lies all around me the truth contort

I’m glad she’s gone, away from my filth

Shakti is here restoring my faith

The soil of my mind has none to tilth

The smoke dances like gypsies

I exhale and sigh long

That’s when he asked me for the time

His voice interrupted my trace like a gong

I told him then he ask me for a dime

If he had caught me before I met Mr. Chesterfield

I probably would have fifteen cents to spare

But this was not a time to give what would not yield

Regardless I was not in no mood to share

And since I am not I would much rather be dead

He beat his gums about “important” business

I was more than sick of the sludge that he fed

Important men who do important things are atrocious

They think they are everything but are something less than nothing

Always talking and trying to sound precocious

Making ambitious plans while the ground they keep stuffing

The bodies are stacked high until they’re six feet under

As he spoke I relished the idea of a warm coffin

I’d be warm nowhere near this thunder

Zeus’ bolts ripped the sky like white jagged stripes

It reminded me of a sound I was all too familiar with

Planes I flew with bombs attached, all types

Dropped death from above, I wish it was pure myth

But legend they will say it was

A noble cause to fight and die for your country

They did it for honor, for pride because

Of that and this, but most didn’t live to twenty.

The man could see I was not interested in engaging

He walked off to the other end of the station probably saw

My temper was building, temperature raging

He soon spotted someone else and their ear he would gnaw

It’s fine that he leaves like all the others

Solitude is a lovely jacket that Mr. Chester and I share

Anything I can do to relieve myself of my fallen brothers

I still see them every time I close my eyes if I dare

The train engine roars as it speeds down the track

I slowly walk forward to the edge of the pier

One false step and there would be no coming back

I snicker and inhale deep looking down at my expiry that sweet dear

My fear extinguishing out of my body like the smoke from my mouth

The train was coming up fast, people were starting to realize

How ironic that this would be the end of how everything went south

Instead of dying where I expected, this is how my death would be directed

It happened in seconds and I felt nothing

My body went stiff as the train blurred by at full speed

Mere Inches in front of my face, my heart thumping

It was not my fate, not ordained creed

If I died it wouldn’t be today

There was one more thing keeping me connected

Something that made me stay

Even when I am rejected

Mr. Chesterfield is my closest ally

Near to my heart and keeping me sane

So again I puff and sigh

For now I remain

Background Information:

The first thing I did when I set out to rewrite this poem was to get a sense of what the original poem is about. So I went over the lesson that analyzes Shelley’s Ode to the West Wind. I realized what a major role Wind played to the speaker it was so important that it was worthy of a poem being written about it. Then I thought of how someone in the modernist era might have an inanimate object play such an important role. This is where I got the idea of “Mr. Chesterfield” Chesterfield was a cigarette brand in the years after WWI in the early 1920s. Like the speaker from Ode to the West Wind, something that cannot speak is personified as if it is a person that can speak. The character of the story is addicted to cigarettes and has become loyal to his favorite brand that he buys every day. Instead of romancing his relationship with “Mr. Chester” I decided to depict a scene in which the speaker is attempting to kill himself. The speaker is cynical about many things and disappointed with society. Some areas of the poem point out that he fought in the war, he feels guilty that he did not die in the war and has internal thoughts and struggles that torment him.

He is alone and alienated although two people come to speak with him to pass the time, which reflects the modern world he lives in, even with people around him he is still alone. Also I employed references to diverse cultures, belief systems, and histories by the speaker making reference to the Hindu goddesses Maya (means illusion) and Shakti (who slays demons and restores peace), and of course Zeus from Greek mythology who is the god who shoots lighting. The language is experiment and none traditional. Most of the poem fits the rhyme scheme of the original but doesn’t fit a specific structure and goes back and forth from the speaker relating the events to his personal thoughts.