The Ballad of Clytemnestra

Hello. At the moment I am in a very interesting play. It's about a son trying to free himself from the attentions of the furies - spirits of vengeance - who are haunting him because he killed his mother because she killed his father killed their daughter. Also the daughter kills the wife's new lover, but that's okay because no one likes him. It's on 7th, 8th & 9th of July at the courtyard theatre and if you'd like you can buy tickets for it here: http://www.thecourtyard.org.uk/whatson/261/the-women-screaming-beyond. I wouldn't be so vulgar as to use the sacred space of my blog just to be a commercial whore. I do have a thing for you to read as well. The play uses songs to do what choral odes did in Greek tragedy. I wrote poems which, with a little bit of tweaking by people who actually know something about music, became the lyrics for these songs. I would like to share one of these with you. This one is the ghost of the mother exhorting the furies to do their job and it goes thusly:

The Ballad of Clytemnestra

Hello there, Furies, how are you? I’ve been trapped down in the gloom

But I thought I’d come and ask you why - despite the solemn task that I

Gave you when I made you from rage and hatred -

Why is my son still breathing?

I wondered what was keeping you

And now I find you sleeping, you

Useless, idle twerps.

Don’t you know how I suffer?

But it’s not enough for you to just delay

No! You have to while away the day

While that matricidal little shit

Of a son of mine commits

His crime and spends his time

Changing the wallpaper in MY throne room

While I’m stuck, as I said, down in Hades’ gloom

Being snidely mocked by the shades of mediocre cocks.

So I thought I’d tell you

Why I swiftly sent you

To give me some peace at last.

I won’t let that weapon-wielding arse,

Agamemnon be vindicated in infanticide

Or let the git decide to put his brother’s wife before his own.

You lay there with your dreaming

When you should turn your minds to scheming

On how to give me one thing at which I won.

From the outset I was second-best

Like when Zeus came down to test

His pimping skills on our mother

And the Olympian begat

Another squalling brat

Whose life was heaven-blessed

While I, of mortal seed, was left

In Helen’s whorish shadow.

Every king and every prince of every place in Greece

Wanted her to have a piece

Of them inside of her

And maybe make a bride of her.

I was second-prize.

So just for once in my wretched life

Can’t things turn out as I wanted?

I want Orestes to be haunted

But you just had to have a nap!

I will not take this crap!

So stand up, get in line!

You’re my furies! Mine!

It was my rage that called you back

From slumber underneath the earth

My screams that gave you birth

And still I find you snoring!

You lazy, useless, slothful, toothless,

Awful, hopeless, gruesome, loathsome

Pathetic excuses for a spirit of vengeance,

I demand you find my son and make him pay

But most of all I’d like to say:

WAKE UP, YOU IDLE FUCKING CUNTS!

One hopes you're well,
yrs,
ADWoodward