Ballad of a Madman

Finals are next week and between studying, writing final papers, and completing term projects, I had little time to write the fourth installment of my novella Seven Months. Because of that, I am taking a brief hiatus from it and will instead post one of my final projects for my World Literature class! If it sounds boring, I promise you--it isn't an essay, in fact, it is a creative' project I rather enjoyed drafting and writing!

First, though, I'll give you some background. In World Literature, we were discussing how literature affects people in different countries and even continents, and how literature influences and sparks ideas between authors, essentially the definition of intertextuality and literary influence. As examples, we read Memoirs of a Madman by Nikolai Gogol (Russia), which then influenced A Madman's Diary by Lu Xun (China), and then finally The Diary of a Madman by Guy de Maupassant. I provided the links in the titles if you are interested in reading each! My version may make more sense after you read the originals, but it is not necessary. Anyway, each work is a satirical reaction to political governments and movements, from the realization that Mother Russia failed her children to the older generations leeching off the younger to the corruption of power. They are, I believe, fascinating reads.

Our assignment was to create our own adaptations of these pieces, and I opted to write mine in ballad form, which then deteriorates into free verse as the madness assumes control and takes over the narrator. You'll have to tell me whether I succeeded in that goal or not!

Ballad of a Madman

I.

Today I chose to walk to work;

Most days I ride the bus.

The sun shone high, the weather fine—

I could not make a fuss.

It is mid-March, and spring has come.

The creatures calling know

And herald change, the winter gone.

They do not miss the snow.

These thoughts I mused the morning through;

There’s change upon the wind.

I sat and mulled through what this means

Until the daylight thinned.

Returning home, I took the bus.

The sky was dark and black.

My boss demanded that I stay

And pick up where pace slacked.

So, I stayed at my desk until

I filed the tallest pile

Of paper left by older men

Who thought it not worthwhile.

“Fire them!” I say, but no one cares

To heed the words of youths.

While money stuffs their pockets full,

They ignore a young man’s truths.

              ((Are they deaf?))

II.

The sky released a sheet of rain

Upon the ground this morn.

There was no hint of yesterday

Or any creatures born.

I left the bus and went to work,

All drenched and soaked from rain.

You see, I have no coat or fur

To shield me. (What a pain.)

The only coat I own is worn

And tattered from long use,

For all my money went to pay

My debts for school—the noose!

It tightens fingers ‘round my neck.

Long labor is its bane,

Or else I’ll drown in notes from banks,

My life gone down the drain.

I should have saved, I see that now

But what else could I do?

Advisors urged me to attend,

And thus, my troubles grew.

School bled my wallet dry as bone;

I took out many debts

To pay for college, but my job

Pays not enough, I fret.

My boss stared hard when I walked in,

Displeased by my attire.

My suit and tie were hanging limp.

He said I need a dryer.

I hate my job, but it pays well,

Or decent, I suppose.

But older workers always judge,

And they stare down their nose.

Why should they waste their extra thoughts?

And prod into my life?

My boss, he condescends my state.

He’s on his second wife.

Why two? I wonder in my seat

And gaze across the room.

The window’s closed, the clock chimes ten.

Outside and in, there’s gloom.

              ((He has too much in life

and I too little

for him to demand more from me.))

III.

I noticed something strange outside

In trees beside my home.

Birds flapped their wings, their fury red,

‘round nests, turned-over domes.

I marveled at their rage and fear,

Their voices I heard shriek.

Until I turned and saw bold squirrels

Steal birdseed from the meek.

This angered me; I ran downstairs

And out the door I dashed,

To scare those daring squirrels away;

But black their eyes did flash.

They fixed their beady gaze on me

And flicked their bushy tails,

Stretched cheeks stuffed full of food for birds,

Bared teeth as sharp as nails.

They frightened me, I cannot lie.

I understood the birds!

Who fluttered, squawking, in the boughs

And spoke to me in words.

At first I thought I had gone mad!

For birds don’t speak our tongue.

But sure enough, in harried speech

They yelled, their warnings rung.

Beware, beware! they called and cried,

They take our seeds, our seeds!

They spring and steal away our stores

Despite our desperate pleas.

Squirrels dig and bury all their food,

And have enough to spare,

But they insist on taking ours—

Oh help! They steal our shares!

We spend all winter working hard

While they grow big and fat.

Our labor they do seize as theirs,

And leave us for the cat.

Then to the earth one tumbled thus,

And shook away the dust

He eyed me, sharp, and hopped my way,

My shoulder he did trust.

His beak cracked wide, as though to speak

Or whisper in my ear

His voice was weak and dry; he rasped

As I bent down to hear.

I will grow weak—I cannot fly

Malnourished as I’ll be.

And all because the greedy squirrels

Stole all my gain from me.

His long lament did touch my ears,

I started from my trance;

I ran at squirrels, our treacherous foes

And chased them up a branch.

Above me, how they screeched and chimed,

Stringing threats and cursing me;

Their eyes flashed red, their tails whipped air.

I shook upon my knees.

It’s true, I realized with a jolt

The squirrels all lie and thieve.

Gluttons—the entire bunch,

They’ll now come after me.

              ((I must save myself from them.))

IV.

The squirrels intend to trap me.

They followed me today.

They sit at desks and watch me work;

I cannot keep away.

They stole the seeds; they took the loot

The hard-earned work of birds.

My boss just laughed, my warning lost.

He never hears my words.

And still they lurk and leer and laugh

The lazy spawn of swine.

They jest and jeer and do no work,

But watch as I do mine.

((Swine. Now there’s a thought—squirrels and swine.

Orwell wrote something like that once, didn’t he?))

…..

It’s evening

Once more I’m working late

While they go to the bar.

Grey hairs sprout from the squirrels.

V.

At my desk I slept last night;

The squirrels kept me from leaving.

Their black eyes took on human form

They peered down from the ceiling.

It’s morning, daylight now.

I should be safe in public.

I’ll take the bus…If I can find my wallet.

It seems to have disappeared.

VI.

The cursèd squirrels did steal my cash,

I’m forced to walk their streets.

That’s when they got me, chased me

Until I reached my home.

The sight that meets me there is grave.

Squirrels shift their skins and stand

As men: a banker with a note in hand;

Beside him, the man I pay my college debt.

….

They took the little left to me,

My home, my books, my trees.

No chirping sounded from the birds

When I fell to my knees.

Or when I tossed the can away,

The stench of gasoline heavy.

             

Yet they never made a sound.

              Not even when I struck the match.

VII.

The fire ate the house so fast;

Smoke blackened every wall.

Then sirens wailed from down the street.

My skin began to crawl.

The squirrels watched as their empire burned

Their black eyes glimmered red.

Safe in their boughs, among their spoils of war,

They burrowed into bed.

“Beware, beware!” I screamed to anyone who stopped.

“They take my coins, my cash!

They lie in wait and lie and thieve

My money and my life.

“Their money grows in mounds of bills—

They have enough to spare!

But they insist on taking ours—

Oh help! They take my share!

“I spend all day long working hard

While they lie and relax.

My work, my wages they claim as theirs,

And leave the rest for tax.

“I’m growing weak—I cannot see

The world seems grim and bleak.

And it’s because the greedy squirrels

Stole all my gain from me.”

Men seized my arms at my last cry

As people watched and gaped.

The fools. The fools. They’re blind, they’re blind—

Caught in the same trap as I.

I cannot run. Cannot flee.

My money’s drowning me.

But it’s all gone. Ha!

Taken by squirrels and burned by me.

I beat them this time.

But the birds are helpless.

              helpless

                             helpless

                                           helped less.

Beaten, they suffer. Robbed, they cry.

The birds will die, the birds will die

              die

                             die

                                           die

Starved.

Drained of all their work and wealth.

While the squirrels grow ever fat.

Save them!

Save the birds!

Don’t let them—

Don’t let them die.

---------------

That concludes my adaptation, Ballad of a Madman! If you enjoyed this and want to comment your thoughts and opinions or conclusions, or even to say hi, please leave a comment and I'll check it and get back to you as soon as possible! Also, to see daily writing and reading updates, follow me on Instagram (link here or on the right sidebar under Social Media Accounts). You can also follow me on Google+ to receive updates about when I post new material here, such as Seven Months: Part 4, which will come your way in two weeks!

Have a lovely Saturday and thank you for reading and following my blog!

~Abigail