Simply Gothic: A retelling of Hawthorne’s “Feathertop”

To honor the season of Halloween, I’ve embarked upon a new series I call Simply Gothic. In this collection of verses, I’m retelling some of my favorite short works of Gothic fiction in lyrical form. I’ve long been a zealous fan of Nathaniel Hawthorne, Herman Melville and Edgar Allan Poe, but in the age of touch screens and TikTok, I feel their masterpieces are losing traction.

With my lyrical retelling of Hawthorne’s “Feathertop”, I aim to make the nineteenth century allegory a bit more accessible to young readers. This condensed version incorporates rhyming couplets and anapest meter to produce something of a nursery rhyme effect. For optimal results, you can read them out loud. It makes for light, easy reading, without sacrificing Hawthorne’s profound themes and morals.

Other stories in the Simply Gothic series will include “The Black Cat” by Poe and “Bartleby, the Scrivener” from Melville.

“Feathertop” first appeared in The International Magazine, published in two installments, in 1852. It was later anthologized in Mosses from an Old Manse, Hawthorne’s seminal collection of short masterpieces, which also includes such timeless classics as “Young Goodman Brown” and “The Birthmark”.

The complete poem will remain here on the website for a limited time. But eventually I will be compiling the series into a paperback or an illustrated e-book and making it available for sale on my Amazon page.

In dreamy New England, the age of Romantics
Where spell-casting witches display their enchantments
Dear Mother Rigby she speaks the command
To light up her pipe without lifting her hand
And bringing the bowl glowing red to her lips
She savors the taste of tobacco she sips
Then slowly exhaling, she leans in her chair
As smoke spirals up through the cool morning air

Today she has risen ahead of the dawn
With a project she aims to get started upon
What she needs is a scarecrow to stand in her patch
Which a powerful witch can so swiftly dispatch
But rather than fashion it quickly and crude
Hers should be handsome with magic imbued
A scarecrow to make Mother Rigby so proud
As she puffs on her pipe and releases a cloud

For starters, a broomstick will serve as his spine
And arms she attaches with ribbons and twine
The first is a piece of a tumbledown bludgeon
From late Mr. Rigby, the fallen curmudgeon
The other from parts of a broken old stool
Then a rickety leg from a gardening tool
And the left leg, some lumber removed with a saw
While his organs are merely a sack full of straw

Then finding a pumpkin to serve as his head
She sees that the scarecrow looks awfully well-bred
And dresses him nicely according to plan
With a plum-colored coat for completing the man
And in spite of the patches and stains on his suit
The hole on his breast and the sole of his boot
Mother Rigby continues by adding a wig
All topped with a feather, the biggest of big

The head on his shoulders and lump in his chest
They make him appear as refined as the rest
So the pipe-smoking woman is pleased as can be
Her handiwork surely a triumph to see
The scarecrow before her, he couldn’t be beat
As handsome as many you’d meet on the street
Though the use of true magic she tries to resist
At this point the sorceress cannot resist

So taking the pipe, so mysteriously lit
She feeds it to scarecrow to smoke for a bit
To puff and keep puffing, she urges him on
If he values his life, then the smoke must be drawn
And a pumpkin head resting on straw and some sticks
Performs the most shocking of all magic tricks
Puffing away, Mother Rigby’s creation
He takes his first step by his own animation

This life giving miracle now taking place
Puts a radiant smile on the crone’s withered face
“Say something, speak to me,” Rigby implores
For a well-spoken scarecrow can open some doors
And here there’s a mumble and now there’s another
Till finally the figure addresses his mother
“But what can I say, no wits in my skull?”
Though many with minds may appear just as dull

Observing his manners, his voice and his stride
The corn patch, for him, is no place to reside
Mother Rigby assesses his average credentials
Providing the scarecrow with certain essentials
A handful of coins and a great deal of brass
Will allow the straw puppet to travel first class
And also a token to make introductions
To men of high places with fewest obstructions

So not to forget his unnatural source
That smoldering pipe he’ll be needing, of course
And now he’s prepared for the world which awaits
To mingle with men who have similar traits
Some hay for a heart and a squash for a brain
The only thing missing, he still lacks a name
Mother Rigby must think how to christen her creature
And settles on Feathertop, fond of that feature

Arriving and finding the townspeople stirred
Of his background they certainly know not a word
But admire his garments and fashion unique
Perhaps he’s a nobleman, Turkish or Greek
He walks with intention, a lilt in his gait
They’d all like to meet him, they can’t hardly wait
But he’s already off to his first introduction
To meet Justice Gookin, per Rigby’s instruction

Feathertop passes his way through the crowd
With onlookers staring and gasping out loud
And old Mister Gookin is duly impressed
By the strange looking man with a patch on his chest
Who’s puffing along with a pipe glowing hotter
At which point he notices Gookin’s young daughter
She’s innocent, delicate, free with her heart
Oh, Polly’s not simple, but neither so smart

When gallantly Feathertop makes his advance
The maiden naively falls into a trance
Persuadable Polly succumbs to his spell
Despite all that’s missing from under his shell
Though awkward in posture and far from intelligent
All his false gestures still strike her as elegant
Simply a shadow, he makes her heart soften
It seems like such foolishness happens quite often

Bewitched by his attitude, charmed by his ways
She helplessly holds her admiring gaze
Then following Feathertop up to the glass
To look in the mirror that neither can pass
But rather than glimpsing the man she expected
Instead it’s a patchwork of rubbish reflected
An empty illusion all lacking in life
Impossible, Polly cannot be his wife

So Feathertop solemnly makes his return
His story a lesson each person should learn
It takes more than witchcraft to make a success
And more than a piece of rare cloth in your dress
A heart must be strong and stand up for itself
As character measures one’s genuine wealth
And though you might meet with a scarecrow or two
If they cannot reflect then they cannot be true

Further reading

In the beginning was the worm

10 Honey-Tongued Limericks about Shakespeare

Love poems from lockdown: A work of fiction

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