Of Parodies

Saha has just published a post about an article on “parody and intellectual property” that we once co-authored in our giddy youth. I usually don’t like reproducing material that I have published elsewhere, but the post on parody, coupled with the fact that our college authorities have recently changed the attendance rules, gives me the perfect opportunity to recycle a parodic poem I once published in our college magazine.

The Ballad of a Serial Bunker

This winter morn, the world outside is freezing;
I can’t let them snatch my cozy world away;
The warmth between the blankets is amazing;
I think I will not go to class today.

To Friday morning puris I’m averse,
And I abjure from them; come what may.
Boredom’s bad, but hunger makes it worse;
I think I will not go to class today.

It’s pouring; there’s an atmosphere of gloom;
The road is muddy; the sky outside is grey;
My umbrella’s been stolen from my room;
I think I will not go to class today.

I’m reading, while my conscience wages
A losing war with Ernest Hemingway;
I haven’t read a better book in ages;
I think I will not go to class today.

In football season, to drag myself to class
Would be a waste, I’d much rather play.
I love to feel bare feet on dewy grass;
I think I will not go to class today.

Not a single lecture more can I withstand—
My truant spirit cries, and I obey;
Corp. Insolvency should be banned;
I think I will not go to class today.

From my room, I watch my batch-mates go
To write their tests, but in my room I stay;
My attendance has hit a record low;
I’m not allowed to write my test today.

The poem, if you haven’t figured it out yourself, parodies A Ballade of Suicide by G. K. Chesterton. Parodies and translations—both derivative works—are just about the only forms of poetry I seem remotely capable of writing, which probably goes to show that I’m not a very original thinker.