June 11: Wendell Berry, "Enemies," Monsters

Enemies

by:  Wendell Berry

If you are not to become a monster,

you must care what they think.

If you care what they think,

how will you not hate them,

and so become a monster

of the opposite kind? From where then

is love to come—love for your enemy

that is the way of liberty?

From forgiveness. Forgiven, they go

free of you, and you of them;

they are to you as sunlight

on a green branch. You must not

think of them again, except

as monsters like yourself,

pitiable because unforgiving.

_________________________

Yes, monsters come in many shapes and sizes.  They can be Bigfoots or rats.  Five-year-olds or centenarians.  Russian dictators or Presidents of the United States.  I'm a monster to some people.  It's unavoidable.  Humans are flawed creatures. 

I think that's why popular culture is full of monsters and ghosts.  They tell us something about ourselves.

Saint Marty likes to think that he's the Cookie Monster.

January 27: Monster Movies, Dorothea Lasky, "Monsters"

I have always been a freak for monster movies.  Frankenstein, Dracula, Wolfman, Creature from the Black Lagoon.  I used to watch all of them, over and over, as a kid.  I sort of identified with them, like Guillermo del Toro.

I'm hoping to see The Shape of Water tonight--a monster love story.  In the spirit of that film, I have a little poem from Dorothea Lasky about a monster.  A little one.  It's sort of a kids' poem, and it's sort of NOT a kids' poem.  It touches the monster in all of us.

Saint Marty is ready to howl at the moon a little tonight.

Monsters

by:  Dorothea Lasky

This is a world where there are monsters

There are monsters everywhere, racoons and skunks

There are possums outside, there are monsters in my bed.

There is one monster. He is my little one.

I talk to my little monster.

I give my little monster some bacon but that does not satisfy him.

I tell him, ssh ssh, don’t growl little monster!

And he growls, oh boy does he growl!

And he wants something from me,

He wants my soul.

And finally giving in, I give him my gleaming soul

And as he eats my gleaming soul, I am one with him

And stare out his eyepits and I see nothing but white

And then I see nothing but fog and the white I had seen before was nothing but fog

And there is nothing but fog out the eyes of monsters.