'THE RAVEN' REMIX

Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Raven' rewritten by jazz poet Lord Buckley in beatnik slang ('The Bugbird') 1950:

It was a real drug midnight

swoooooooooooooooah dreary

i was goofing

beat and weary

over many a freakish volume of forgotten score

when suddenly there came a tapping

as if some cat were gently riffing

knocking rhythm at my pad's door.

ah, "tis the landlady" i muttered

on her broom she flies the rounding

sounding for her rent

WHICH only this and nothing more

ehh, ooh, will i ever get out of this feeling?

emmmmm, emmmmmmm

ah, so solid i remember,

it was in that wrought december

and its swingin', jumpin' ember

blew its phantom upon the floor.

groovily i woo'd the morrow

still hung i sought to borrow

from my book kicks

to knock the sorrow

sorrow for my gone lenore.

for that sweet square but swingin' maiden

whom the fly chicks tagged lenore

nameless here forevermore.

oooooh, man,

and the silky wear deturning

of each upper curtain

moved me, hound me

with freakish fipples

never dug before.

so that now to cool the beating of my ticker

i stood repeating, "tis some strange midnight stud

that's sounding a money beat on my pad's door"

a deuce to cool the morrow

or some juice to drown his sorrow

some lightweight riff this 

and nothing more.

"jack!" i said "or jilly, if i've crossed you.

haha.  don't jump sore

for the solid truth is

this cat was napping

and so cool did you come tapping

and so light hip you came rapping

rhythm at my pad's door

that i was scarce sure i dug you!"

here i opened wide the slammer, jack.

swhoosh, i dug the breeze

and nothing more.

ooh, what are they trying to do to me?

i'll show them- what do they think about-

get my way out of this- why they-

uummmm, what was that?

look out, look out, look out!

take it easy, take it easy, take it easy, take it easy!

stoned into the darkness peering

long i stood there

i was hung there

flipped and fitting

king spinning dreams

no mortal cat had ever rode before.

but the gasser was unbroken

diggin' so hard my wig was goin'

but nathin' shakin' nathin's sure

just one radar blip was goin'

the whispered word: lenore.

this one sad lick and nothing more.

oooh, why don't they leave me alone,

why don't they leave me alone?

they're draggin' me.

i backed into my pad

still turning

all this jazz within me burning

and again i dug the tapping

a stronger beat than was before.

"unsolid hip" says i, "i don't dig

what that is jumpin' in my window lattice.

let me get hip what the rat is

and this big flip i will explore

let my pounders stay cool

and this flip i will explore"

swoo-shoo, jack, i drew a blank

and nothing more.

swhooooo-

who do they think they are to do this to me?!

gone full out

i found the shutter

when with many a flip and flutter

in there stomped a king sized bugbird, jack

from way back days of yore.

not a minute tipped or hung he

not a minute brought or down he

but with stance of king and queen

he swung above my sweet pad's door

lit upon the bust of paris

sat goofin' there and nothing more.

"unsolid hip," said i, "that you're not craven

gasser grim and beat up raven

goofin' for the night's plutonian shore.

swing hip me to what thy tag is

on the night's plutonian shore"

flip the bugbird, "nothing more"

i love this.  it's fun to recite. 

xo