By Phil Sangwell from United Kingdom (Harvest moon.) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons
Monday Morning Musings:
I gaze at the Harvest Moon
from my kitchen door.
Glorious, golden, and full,
she hums a message of hope,
and winks at me from the star-lit sea.
She appears, full moon
just before the autumnal equinox
gleaming and glowing for farmers’ gleaning,
giving them light in the darkness.
She’s a moon for lovers,
and for lunatics and werewolves, too.
Do you see them walking through the streets of Soho?
Lon Chaney and the queen? Aaooooooo!
Was it the call of the moon that brought to Whitechapel
a demon, a golem, a monster, a man
who ripped and mutilated bodies
and then vanished in the dark? Vanished in time?
We think monsters walk only in the night,
hiding in the shadows,
hiding under beds,
but some appear in daylight, too,
disguised as men.
They were there when the ovens glowed red hot,
the ovens that worked full-time, day and night
and yet people still deny they existed,
these extermination factories
though the stench of death rose in the air
and ashes drifted like snow.
And monsters are here now still, spreading hatred
spreading lies, burying truth like old bones,
denial, the métier of despotic regimes
We see the movie, Demon,
my husband and I
a Polish wedding goes horribly wrong,
the groom possessed by a dybbuk,
a Jewish woman who lived in the town
(I did say horribly wrong.)
A nightmare of a wedding,
but it goes on,
the guests getting drunker and wilder,
the bride’s parents denying anything is wrong,
until her father says,
“We must forget what we didn’t see here.”
Ghosts of the past haunt people and nations.
And so it goes,
bury the bones, bury the truth
but the truth is out there,
so I’ve heard,
and history is bound to be repeated.
But bones can be dug up,
And truth can be recovered.
After the movie, we see a wedding party
they are smiling and taking photos,
to remember the moment, the joy,
a record of a golden day.
At Independence Mall,
love glowing, love growing
in the cradle of liberty.
And so, we strive, we try.
Men have reached the moon
and ships have sailed past it.
We seek to tell other beings we are here
here on this pale blue dot,
the third planet from our sun.
Our golden record,
gold like our sun,
gold like the Harvest Moon,
is journeying, telling our story.
It carries the music of Berry and Bach,
bagpipes and flutes, a mother’s kiss, a baby’s cry,
the sounds of love, the sounds of creativity.
So shine on Harvest Moon,
way up in the sky,
Hum your song, do your magic.
Down here, we love and we kill,
We’re angels and demons,
We’re romantics and scientists
We’re human, fallible and strong.
We live in hope.
By NASA/JPL (The Sounds of Earth Record Cover) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
This week my husband and I watched the season finale of Season 4 of Ripper Street, a British show about police detectives in 19th century London in the area of Whitechapel where Jack the Ripper once lurked. This season, the show focused on Jewish characters who had fled Russian pogroms. Some in the neighborhood believed there was a golem attacking people there.
Yesterday we saw the movie, Demon (d. Marcin Wrona, 2015), released in U.S. September 2016. You can see a trailer and reviews here.
On the radio show, Science Friday this past week, there was a segment on the Golden Record. They are also asking for suggestions from listeners of what they would include in a new golden record.
According to legend, werewolves turn from their human form to wolves at the full moon. “Werewolves of London” is a song by Warren Zevon.