Today, as my boss was collecting my attendance sheet, he noticed that my students were in the middle of reading their Medieval Lyric Imitation Poems out loud. After he stayed to listen, he ran to his office. Five minutes later, he returned with some imitation poems HE had previously written. I asked him if I could share them. Here they are:
Imitations of “Play That Funky Music, White Boy!”
Original Version (for comparison):
And they were dancin’, and singin,
And movin’ to the groovin’=
And just when it hit me
Somebody turned around and shouted,
“Play that funky music white boy!
Play that funky music right.
Play that funky music, white boy!
Lay down the boogie, and play that funky music
Till you die!
“T.S. Eliot’s Version”
Someone turning said something about something that should be played.
“Play”, he said. “Play the music. Play the funky music.”
This thing was said to me, and yet I am not Prince.
I am a mere white boy come to check out the show, but– in short– it hit
Whan that it did stryke mee sore-
For that they did danse and singe
And move to groove-
One ther was that turning spake
And crying loud in clarion tone
Pype to us now, moonfaced minstrel youth,
And let thy songe be low and lurid
Such as inspired for to danse and skippe,
Insinuated hath itself to every lawless joynt and hippe.
Sing now thy bawdy hymns,
Thou pale and milky fellow,
Nor cease thy song that so well pleases
These thine oft companions-
Not, that is, till thou hast lost thy place in the sublunary light
And, making thing end,
Hast quit this mortal coil.
Moreover someone spake unto me saying:
As the fire devours the stubble
And the flame consumes the chaff,
Play the music of the ungodly
O son of Japheth.
Play it in the narrow halls of the Gentiles,
Play it to the joy of the Son of the Morning-
Until thou, too, shalt pull up thy feet and be gathered unto thy fathers.