Poor Polidori's Unfinished Idea---A Ballad, A Little Risque; But Might Make A Good Ballet

"Poor Polidori had some terrible idea about a skull-headed lady, who was so punished for peeping through a key-hole—what to see I forget—something very shocking and wrong of course; but when she was reduced to a worse condition than the renowned Tom of Coventry, he did not know what to do with her, and was obliged to despatch her to the tomb of the Capulets, the only place for which she was fitted."

---Mary Shelley, Frankenstein, "Introduction To The 1831 Edition"


She was a grim, ancient old maid;

her face was like a skull's

visage.  She peeped through strange keyholes---

and did so without pause.


She seemed to think that she was wise;

that others wished to hear

her thoughts about all  this and that,

but she just stirred up fear


not just for her horrific looks,

but of her ignorance.

She lacked all couth, and hated books,

and spoke just like a dunce.


She took a pervserse pleasure in

all things funereal;

and her mouth broke into a grin

when someone's burial


happened.  She said, each time, "Well fate

has certainly bestowed

its judgment on those recent dead:

they reap what they have sowed."


Something about that Juliet

seemed to that nosy dame

not quite traditional, but what

that was---she could not name.


She said, "I always thought there was

among those Capulets

something quite wild about their child---

the sort no one forgets."


She wished to have told Romeo

but he was greatly smitten

by Juliet's affections of

which many poems were written;


yes Juliet, who tossed caution

into the swirling wind;

and loved with an intensity

no judgment could rescind.


She crept out to the tombs, one night.

Into the Capulet's

great mausoleum's hall, she peeped---

and winced at Juliet's


appearance that gave her a fright,

the whole worse than its parts:

two lovers who were not afraid

to be led by their hearts;


two lovers, writhing with delight,

defied their parents' choice:

shoeless, topless; tights and long hair;

and both of them were . . . boys!


And neither one intends that they

should throttle their young lives.

We see them off to Mantua,

where their souls' union thrives.


Starward

 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

In December, 1967, or January, 1968, I first read Mary Shelley's introduction to the 1831 edition of her first novel.  I have always wondered about the details of John Polidori's unfinished and never unpublished idea.  (To the best of my knowledge, its entire remains are preserved only by Mary Shelley in the said introduction.)  My poem also spins an idea first proposed in a middle-school English class I attended in 1972-73:  that, in Shakespeare's play, Romeo And Juliet, the poetry of the eponymous lovers' relationship is independent of gender considerations.  I suspect that most informed readers know that, during Shakespeare's time, the part of Juliet would have been enacted by a boy actor---hopefully one of exquisite beauty, but a male all the same.  

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