Happy Halloween!

Doctor Pretorius (played by Ernest Thesiger)
was a Paracelsian who kept his homunculi
imprisoned in glass belljars; when they knocked
with tiny fists upon the glass it rang
like toy telephones: this in The Bride of Frankenstein
in which the Bride (the Monster's of course: Frankenstein's
bride was played by Valerie Hobson who later
married a British Cabinet Minister named
John Profumo, which is strange but not relevant)
was played by Elsa Lanchester who in 'real'
i.e. off screen life was married to Charles Laughton
who was Quasimodo in the second Hunchback
of Notre Dame and Doctor Moreau in The Island
of Lost Souls in which the Leader
of the Beast Men was Bela Lugosi who
(need I say it?) played the title-role in the original
Dracula in which Renfield the madman
who ate flies was Dwight Frye who acted
the malignant hunchback who in Frankenstein the first
selected the wrong brain for the poor Monster
(doomed from the start) who was played
by Boris Karloff who was played by
a very gentle Englishman named
William Henry Pratt.

Ash in the crucible revives
Roses and monsters hover in the mind.

M.K. Joseph, Inscriptions on a Paper Dart, Selected Poems
1945-1972

'Woe's me! woe's me!
The acorn's not yet
Fallen from the tree,
That's to grow the wood,
That's to make the cradle
That's to rock the bairn,
That's to grow to the man,
That's to lay me.
Woe's me! Woe's me!'


Bobby "Boris" Pickett

Monster Mash Lyrics


I was working in the lab late one night
When my eyes beheld an eerie sight
For my monster from his slab began to rise
And suddenly to my surprise
He did the mash
He did the monster mash
The monster mash
It was a graveyard smash
He did the mash
It caught on in a flash
He did the mash
He did the monster mash
From my laboratory in the castle east
To the master bedroom where the vampires feast
The ghouls all came from their humble abodes
To get a jolt from my electrodes
They did the mash
They did the monster mash
The monster mash
It was a graveyard smash
They did the mash
It caught on in a flash
They did the mash
They did the monster mash
The zombies were having fun
The party had just begun
The guests included Wolf Man
Dracula and his son
The scene was rockin', all were digging the sounds
Igor on chains, backed by his baying hounds
The coffin-bangers were about to arrive
With their vocal group, "The Crypt-Kicker Five"
They played the mash
They played the monster mash
The monster mash
It was a graveyard smash
They played the mash
It caught on in a flash
They played the mash
They played the monster mash
Out from his coffin, Drac's voice did ring
Seems he was troubled by just one thing
He opened the lid and shook his fist
And said, "Whatever happened to my Transylvania twist?"
It's now the mash
It's now the monster mash
The monster mash
And it's a graveyard smash
It's now the mash
It's caught on in a flash
It's now the mash
It's now the monster mash
Now everything's cool, Drac's a part of the band
And my monster mash is the hit of the land
For you, the living, this mash was meant too
When you get to my door, tell them Boris sent you
Then you can mash
Then you can monster mash
The monster mash
And do my graveyard smash
Then you can mash
You'll catch on in a flash
Then you can mash
Then you can monster mash


Thrice Toss These Oaken Ashes

Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air,
Thrice sit thou mute in this enchanted chair,
Then thrice three times tie up this true love's knot,
And murmur soft "She will, or she will not."

Go burn these poisonous weeds in yon blue fire,
These screech-owl's feathers and this prickling briar,
This cypress gathered at a dead man's grave,
That all my fears and cares an end may have.

Then come, you fairies! dance with me a round;
Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound.
In vain are all the charms I can devise:
She hath an art to break them with her eyes.
Thomas Campion

The Least Loved Beast
The lupin is a lovely flower,
From which our forebears would recoil,
Believing that it might devour
The yielding and defenceless soil -
From 'lupine', wolf-like, seeking prey;
so think, this sunday afternoon,
When basking by that bravedisplay,
Of creatures howling at the moon.

We fear the wolf. The very name
Suggests red eyes behind a tree
And horror movies that proclaim
Their subject is lycanthropy.
A wolf in clothing worn by sheep
Is what the righteous most abhor,
While those whose debts mean loss of sleep
Hope they can keep it from the door.

Few hunters stalk on swifter feet.
His mind is sharper than the rest;
But when he kills, he kills to eat,
Not for a medal on his chest.
Take all the books that line your shelf,
Read history since the world began:
The wolf is gentleness itself,
Beside the savagery of Man.

ROGER WODDIS