I’m cruising down a long stretch of highway in flat Ohio, cool breeze rushing in the rolled-down windows, the radio cranked up high. Yes, and I’m tapping the steering wheel, driving mile after mile by myself, free to choose CD or Oldies, fresh air or conditioned, stop now or keep going, as another twenty songs blast me back to the past.
Don McLean comes on, and I crank the volume even louder:
We were singin’ bye-bye, Miss American Pie,
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry….
Then it’s Janis Ian’s “At Seventeen, ” her sad refrain a part of my past, and Harry Chapin’s “Cat’s in the Cradle, ” a melancholy reminder of missed opportunities with children.
Whether it’s Buddy Holly’s death and the sixties that followed, teenage angst, or a warning to grab what time you can with children while they’re young, there’s something about the ballad that reels us in.
And the ballad has been reeling people in for a long time. Springsteen or Swinburne: the beat keeps repeating. “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown” (Jim Croce) or Rudolph Reed (Gwendolyn Brooks): violence and revenge consume.
Begun as a type of medieval folk tale and sung by both illiterate workers and courtly troubadours, the ballad has made a musical and literary splash in just about every country and century. And why not? With its often haunting choruses and landscape of memory and loss, the form feeds our need for story and rhythm.
Traditionally written in rhyming quatrains of abcb, aabb, abba, or abab with alternating lines of iambic tetrameter (four beats of unstressed/stressed syllables) and iambic trimeter (three beats of unstressed/stressed syllables), the ballad also isn’t afraid of variations.
Give it a whirl. You can come up with your own story or try taking one from the headlines. Consider, for example, the popular ballad of Frankie and Johnnie, most often credited to the prolific author (ahem) Anonymous. Variations of this poem have been sung by such greats as Bob Dylan, Lena Horne, and Elvis Presley. The tragic tale, of course, also has frequently graced the stage and silver screen. Based on an actual murder (or two), the poem begins like this:
Frankie and Johnnie were lovers,
O, my Gawd, how they could love,
They swore to be true to each other,
As true as the stars above;
He was her man, but he done her wrong.
and ends like this:
The Sheriff took Frankie to the gallows,
Hung her until she died,
They hung her for killing Johnnie,
And the undertaker waited outside;
She killed her man, ’cause he done her wrong.
You’ll notice that the author uses an abab rhyme scheme (with some slant, or inexact, rhyme), plus a refrain with slight variations.
So, grab that black-and-white newsprint and flip through the morning news. Or listen to ten minutes of a TV or radio talk show. Any human-interest pieces grab your attention?
If not, try this exercise: Last month, a friend told me about a dog and owner who were reunited. Apparently, the dog was so excited to see the owner that the pooch fainted! By now, you may even have seen the video. Put that in a refrain. Once you have it, go back and fill in the story.
Or try retelling a legend or historical event, as in Saunders’ “The Ballad of Casey Jones, ” Thayer’s “Casey at the Bat, ” or (Anonymous again) “John Henry.”
Want to retell in ballad form the story of Susan B. Anthony, Helen Keller, or Rosa Parks? Pick someone who interests you, find out as much as you can about that individual, then zoom in on a crucial event or characteristic of her or his life. See what happens.
If you prefer to start your poetic storyline from scratch, remember that ballads can use plenty of dialogue and action to create, among other things, a romping adventure, a mysterious tale, or a lament of lost love. Think Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner, ” and Poe’s “The Raven” and “Annabel Lee.”
Got a story in mind? A genre you like? (Dare you to try a sci-fi ballad!) Re-read Langston Hughes, W. B. Yeats, and Christina Rossetti, then use rhyme and repetition to lure your reader into a drama. Keep the language simple and the plot moving. If you like, choose a musical refrain that captures the tension in the tale.
With all that in mind, you’re on your way. Just don’t forget your most important ballad-producing ingredient:
Crank up the radio and listen.
Featured photo by Jenny Downing, Creative Commons, via Flickr. Post by Marjorie Maddox, director of creative writing and professor of English at Lock Haven University and author of Local News from Someplace Else and Perpendicular As I.
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Monica Sharman says
Thank you, Marjorie!
Monica Sharman says
Marjorie, here’s mine, for last Monday’s “family superstition” prompt:
https://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2014/09/01/ballad-poetry-prompt-playlist/#comment-123715
Marjorie Maddox says
Ah, both this prompt and this poem made me smile. Ok if I borrow this idea for class?
Maureen Doallas says
All those oldies… you have me traveling down memory lane.
Marjorie Maddox says
And I’ve been listening to more having been on the road the last two days (hence my slow response to all these good comments).
Marcy says
“The Storm of Maggie and Luke”
Storm clouds are arising,
You could see it in Maggie’s eyes.
Found out her Man’s been lying and,
That sun ain’t going to rise.
Luke’s had way too many chances,
As Maggie lets the back door slam.
The wind had started picking up and it,
Blew her long brown hair around.
Anger in those cat green eyes,
Had turned a golden hue.
She though to herself,
All it’s going to take is one,
Mistake and my gun will be pointed at Luke.
Man, she hears his truck in the distance,
Sees the gravel smoke.
Maggie makes a beeline for the kitchen door.
Before Luke’s boots touch the gravel drive,
Maggie’s got her pistol pointed square
Between Luke’s eyes.
Now listen Maggie,
You know she didn’t mean a thing,
Let me put my arms around you,
I swear Maggie, I’ve changed.
Well, Maggie’s had too many and we’re
Not talking drinks.
She stands tall with her pistol loaded,
As Luke steps down from the cab.
Suddenly his head snaps up,
When he hears the hammer click.
Luke has a sinking feeling that Maggie,
Really means it.
He slowly backs away but her eyes never
Leave his face.
The smell of death is in the air,
Luke needs to get out of her space.
Once inside the cab he grabs the handle
Of the door.
Puts that truck in reverse,
Praying, he’s not the first.
His hands are shaking as he grabs
The wheel.
Not Maggie, she stands steady,
Waiting for the thrill.
Maggie collected herself and walked
Slowly back inside the house.
She didn’t even let the back door slam.
The gun lay hot from firing,
She poured herself a drink.
Lightening lit up that sky,
Rain poured down in sheets.
The receiver of the phone was in
Maggie’s hand.
Sheriff Johnson, Maggie said in a
Deep raspy voice,
I’ve done killed myself a man.
Had no idea it was someone I knew,
Looked like a stranger just passing through.
Marcy says
Left the darn “t” out of my thought. Just didn’t caught that one in time before I hit the submit button.
Marcy Terwilliger says
All I did was look out my back door and saw this storm coming, the rest of the poem just came so easy after that. Being surrounded by country music stars in Nashville, Franklin, Mount Juliet & Lebanon Tennessee it’s fun to write about a subject like that. Down here we leave them alone, they can have normal lives. I sent this poem in to a writer to see if he could make a song out of it. Haven’t heard back yet. I’ve seen Dolly Pardon at a small grocery store, Charlie Daniels, Sheryl Crow, Waylon, Anderson, in places to eat. Just good folks down here in the south.
Marjorie Maddox says
Ah, I’ve just gotten out of morning classes talking about the power of story, and here are more examples of how story (and the musical qualities of the ballad) grab us and won’t let us go. Thank you.
Prasanta says
Thank you, Marjorie. I’m following your advice, and I’ve got the radio cranked up. 🙂
Here is one that I shared for the prompt last week:
http://pathoftreasure.wordpress.com/2014/09/03/the-moon-clavier/
Marjorie Maddox says
What a great image of hanging the heart on a clothesline + such a sad, haunting refrain.
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
Your post is “balladesque” — pulling me in leading me into your story of storytelling and ballad writing. Inspiration runs from start to finish. Thank you for inspiring. I shall go back and write a second ballad this week with the desire to fold in your “tips” and teaching here.
As always, thank you Marjorie and Tweetspeak for all you do for writers.
Marjorie Maddox says
Thanks to you as well, Elizabeth.
Charity Singleton Craig says
Can’t wait to try this!
Dolly@Soulstops says
Marjorie,
I’m inspired…Thanks 🙂