Sea Monster

I got to bed quite late last night. I was upset because of the situation in Japan and couldn't sleep so I rummaged through my bookshelf for something to read. I came up with a slim book of children's poetry called The Mermaid's Purse written by Ted Hughes and illustrated by Flora McDonnell. I bought it a few years ago because its looks appealed to me. (I love small illustrated books.) What pleases me most is how perfectly intertwined the poems and drawings are. Neither one is subservient to the other; rather they work in perfect yin/yang harmony, each one distinctly itself yet an essential part of the whole.

When I bought the book, I quickly perused the poems, amused by their titles such as "Jellyfish," "Heron" and "Hermit's Crab" --  and then promptly forgot them. They were short and charming. What is it that someone says in Brideshead Revisited about charm being a fatal weakness of the British?  Anthony Blanche: "It was charm, my dear, simple, creamy charm, playing tigers."  (Thank you, Google.) Well, there was a bit of that going on. Or so I thought. But I hadn't read them closely enough.

Reading them at 4 in the morning, I discovered there was a darker underlay to their frothy tone. Yes, they were fun and light, but they did have a bit of a bite to them, which I liked. I could really feel the powerful presence of the sea, in both its playful aspect and its more sinister side. In homage to the tsunami, I'll leave you with this poem, which is both playful and dark:

Sea Monster

Calm, empty sea
So soothes your eye
"Such peace!" you sigh --


Suddenly ME!


So huge, so near,
So really here,
Your stare goes dry
To see me come


So like a swan,
So slow, so high,
You cannot cry

Already gone
Completely numb.