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TRADITIONAL BALLAD
NARRATIVE POETRY & BALLAD
Narrative poetry: a piece of poem that
represents a narrative (story).
z Ballad: a story written in verse.
z Narrative
N
ti poetry
t and
db
ballad
ll d are nott clearly
l l
distinct and are usually exchangeable.
z Narrative poetry and ballad are often used
simultaneously and referred to as narrative
ballad
z
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z
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A poem meant to be sung
z Usually transmitted down from generation
to generation orally
z Impersonal
I
l ((anonymous))
z Filled with repetitions (of words, phrases,
or sentences).
z Usually undergoes alteration (has more
than one version)
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THE THREE RAVENS
Anonymous
The one of them said to his mate,
"Where shall we our breakfast take?"
"Down in yonder greene field,
There lies a knight slain under his shield
shield.
"His hounds they lie downe at his feete,
So well they can their master keepe.
"His haukes they flie so eagerly,
There's no fowle dare him come nie.“
There were three ravens sat on a tree,
Downe a downe, hay downe, hay downe
There were three ravens sat on a tree
tree,
With a downe.
There were three ravens sat on a tree,
They were as blacke as they might be,
With a downe derrie, derrie, derrie, downe, downe.
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THE THREE RAVENS
Anonymous
Downe there comes a fallow*doe,
brown
As great with yong as she might goe.
She lifted up his bloudy hed,
And kist his wounds that were so red.
She got him up upon her backe,
And carried him to earthen lake*.
pit
about 9 A. M.
She buried him before the prime*,
She was dead herselfe ere eveneven-song time.
There were three ravens sat on a tree,
Downe a downe,
downe hay down
down, hay downe
God send every gentleman
Such haukes, such hounds, and such a leman*
There were three ravens sat on a tree,
With a downe
sweetheart
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1
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There were three ravens sat on a tree,
They were as blacke as they might be,
With a downe derrie, derrie, derrie, downe, downe.
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Downe there comes a fallow*doe,
As great with yong as she might goe
goe.
She lifted up his bloudy hed,
And kist his wounds that were so red.
She got him up upon her backe,
And carried him to earthen lake*.
"His haukes they flie so eagerly,
There's no fowle dare him come nie."
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"His hounds they lie downe at his feete,
So well they can their master keepe.
"Down in yonder greene field,
There lies a knight slain under his shield.
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The one of them said to his mate,
"Where shall we our breakfast take?"
11
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brown
pit
12
2
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BALLAD OF BIRMINGHAM
(On the bombing of a church in Birmingham, Alabama, 1963)
By: Dudley Randall
about 9 A. M.
She buried him before the prime*,
She was dead herselfe ere eveneven-song time.
"Mother dear, may I go downtown
Instead of out to play,
And march the streets of Birmingham
In a Freedom March today?“
today?
God send every gentleman
Such haukes, such hounds, and such a leman*
sweetheart
"No, baby, no, you may not go,
For the dogs are fierce and wild,
And clubs and hoses, guns and jails
Aren't good for a little child.“
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"But, mother, I won't be alone,
Other children will go with me,
And march the streets of Birmingham
To make our countryy free."
She has combed and brushed her nightnight-dark hair.
And bathed rose petal sweet,
And drawn white gloves on her small brown hands,
And white shoes on her feet.
"No, baby, no, you may not go,
For I fear those guns will fire.
But you may go to church instead
And sing in the children's choir."
The mother smiled to know her child
Was in the sacred place,
But that smile was the last smile
To come upon her face.
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BALLAD OF BIRMINGHAM
(On the bombing of a church in Birmingham, Alabama, 1963)
For when she heard the explosion,
Her eyes grew wet and wild.
She raced through the streets of Birmingham
Calling
g for her child.
"Mother dear, may I go downtown
Instead of out to play,
And march the streets of Birmingham
In a Freedom March today?“
y
She clawed through bits of glass and brick,
Then lifted out a shoe.
"O, here's the shoe my baby wore,
But, baby, where are you?"
"No, baby, no, you may not go,
For the dogs are fierce and wild,
And clubs and hoses, guns and jails
Aren't good for a little child."
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3
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"But, mother, I won't be alone,
Other children will go with me,
And march the streets of Birmingham
To make our countryy free."
She has combed and brushed her nightnight-dark hair.
And bathed rose petal sweet,
And drawn white gloves on her small brown hands,
And white shoes on her feet.
"No, baby, no, you may not go,
For I fear those guns will fire.
But you may go to church instead
And sing in the children's choir."
The mother smiled to know her child
Was in the sacred place,
But that smile was the last smile
To come upon her face.
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20
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her things caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast
breast.
She clawed through bits of glass and brick,
Then lifted out a shoe.
"O, here's the shoe my baby wore,
But, baby, where are you?"
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LEDA AND THE SWAN
William Butler Yeats (1865 – 1939)
For when she heard the explosion,
Her eyes grew wet and wild.
She raced through the streets of Birmingham
Calling for her child.
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How can those terrified vague fingers push indistinguishable
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush, hurry
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
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Thank You
A shudder in the loins engenders there side, cause
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
King of Mycenae (in Tojan War)
And Agamemnon dead.
For Your Kind Attention
And for Your Participation
Being so caught up
up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
beast
See You Next Week
mouth
Good Bye
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4