I am teaching my undergraduate module Romantic Origins and Gothic Afterlives this semester and Frankenstein week is coming up next. One of the things we are going to be focussing on is the monster’s reading, his self education, what he reads and why. The new Guillermo del Toro film takes some liberties with this, showing the creature reading Percy Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’, published in the same year as the 1818 novel. This is a lively discussion topic however, and one I’m excited to share with my students next week.
I’m honoured to say that one of the module students, Souhardya Roy, known as Shaan, has just written a poem inspired by Mary Shelley. His poem, ‘The Monarch’, was ‘born from a fascination with Mary Shelley’s personal life and how she translated her pain into a piece of literature that birthed and cemented a new genre, all at the age of 18’. His prime desire was to ‘explore the Creature’s internal landscape and turn his alienation into a terrifying form of royalty, something he quite often does with his own emotions’. I wanted to post the remarkable poem in full ahead of our session and to share it with all our followers.
The Monarch
Tell me dear Father,
Why give me a voice that is soundless
Why give me eyes which cannot contain
Why give me skin that hides not my flesh
Why give me blood that would not flow?
Tell me dear Father,
Why make the mirror show a man
And to man, a monster
Why give me a heart that acts
But does not beat
Why show me the world
And not give me legs
Why give me pain
And not a soul to feel it?
Tell me dear Father,
If I were to not be
Would the world be less empty
Or would it be less full?
Look, look, look
And see!
A butterfly fluttering a raven’s wing!
Look how high he flies!
Look how moves his wings!
Look how the worms peer up at him
Father, O Father
Am I not a monarch in Death’s skin?
All roads lead to eventide
All my steps take Its path
Why then Father
Am I denied joy
The joy of Death?
Why, pray tell
Do the flowers look away when I walk
The sun quickens his pace when I look
Fresh bread rots on its way to my mouth?
Who do I inquire
And to whom do I profess
That my name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Despair on my behalf
Feel the touch of my hollow soul
Feel the kiss of my heartless being
The monster, that I am too
Nailed to the cross
There is now blood flowing
There is now sight
And voice in my throat
And there is but one lone tear in my eye
For this is the Second Coming
And I am the monster nailed to the cross
Ah, a moment of happiness!
Ah, a whole lifetime of moments
Father, dear Father
Do not steer away
This is proof I have blood
And just as yours
Mine stains red
Mine tangs of metal
Mine tastes of salt
Father, O Father
What have you done!
Given me a lifetime of joy
With nothing but rust covered nails
Father, O father
I feel pain
Father, O Father
I feel pain, for I am not Dead
Father, O Father
I feel pain, and thus I exist
But Father, dear Father
What have you done?
Now I am fearless
Oh, so fearless
For there is air in my chest
And blood in my heart
Oh, Ozymandias
Nothing remains at last
But You do
And you are the King
Does that not mean
A Kingdom still breathes?
Father, O Father
Beware of Me
Beware, for I am now fearless
And therefore powerful
Beware, for I am fearless
And therefore I live
But down the blood flows
Life’s essence a shroud on thy shoe
But I still will have a heart
And that heart will break,
And brokenly live on.
Biography
Souhardya Roy is a 21-year-old first-year undergraduate student studying English Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Hertfordshire. Deeply influenced by early Romanticism, especially the works of Shelley, Byron, and Keats, his writing explores the intersection of monstrosity and divinity through the lens of the human condition, a theme that aptly aligns with the Gothic revival in popular media. His work often seeks to give voice to the ‘other’, employing classic literary monsters and tragic biblical figures as allegories for the modern human. He sees human emotions such as remorse and alienation as tragedies carrying the same weight as cosmic or mythological events. When not writing, Souhardya can be found exploring the darker corners of London’s literary history or studying the works of Poe and The Smiths.
