Comments on American Werewolf

I enjoyed playing upon the theme set forth in the Bible's book of Matthew and the fable commonly attributed to Aesop in his compilation of stories. The theme is described as a 'wolf in sheep's clothes' or more literally a danger disguised in the benign.

In the Bible's rendition, the 'wolf' is a nefarious evil-doer, a false prophet, who dons a disguise of benevolence to fool the unwary. I enjoyed the concept of deception that the book describes, however, I began to wonder the exact methodology of that deception. 'American Werewolf' supposes to examine deception by evoking strong literary images coupled with striking verse.

The poem starts with a quasi-proclamation set to mimic a town crier's supposed cries of warning. Although the danger has been perceived, there is still a tense air of suspense because the wolf is in fact disguised and yet to be truly discovered.

So begins the wolf hunt. People begin to guess at who the 'wolf' really is and proceed looking for his hallmark traits: guile, power, attraction. These three qualities of the wolf are both integral to the wolf as a creature and the persona created for him by myth. Most notably is attraction, an attribute given to the wolf during the paranoia of the Victorian era which aided men in their pursuits of 'beasts' by rousing their jealousies and vainglory.

In this version, the wolf's power of attraction is two-fold, it works by playing upon the two methods of control; fear and love. A common occurance in human history is the shepherding of individuals and groups of people by manipulating their fears, and then again manipulating others through the seduction of promised power, usually in the form of wealth and the ability of coercion. That is the most important part, the true danger is not an outside threat, but what that fear can create in us. It is true that all people harbor secret desires and wear facades, however, what matters is not allowing fear and vulnerability tempt us to self-destruction.

American Werewolf

A wolf a wolf, there’s a wolf among the fold a wolf wearing woolen clothes. Look to his lips, there you will see a canine grin. And in his eyes the power of fear, the seduction of power. 

How to Kill a Feeling

For such a duration
I have endured,
and thus procured,
what can only be described
as an acquired taste.

For those things experienced
merely by exposure,
could be the bitterest of desires,
yet, desired nonetheless,
as one of the sweetest flavors.

Therefore,
may I be so bold as to ask,
granted that judgment is solely a matter
of which palette has been developed,
how to kill a feeling?

It is one that I have come to acquire.

Come to think of it,
some answers are those
that cannot be explained,
but are merely chemical
and all in the head.



All rights reserved Matthew Ochs 2011
. . .

This poem calls into question why we crave things, even when they can be overtly negative. It brings to mind the relationship where you're frustrated and at the end of the proverbial rope, but keep coming back to that same person no matter how destructive the relationship may be. Oddly enough that same sort of "addiction" is incredibly similar to other addictions, say, drugs and alcohol. The similarity lies in shared experience that prolonged exposure to those things creates, a real chemical dependency in the brain. Sometimes we just can't seem to get over the desire to feel that rush of serotonin we used to feel in the presence of that special person. You may not even know that it's not about them, but rather it's all in your head.

Dear Penelope,

This journey was a mistake.
Undertaken for a noble cause,
a heroic deed,
in truth, it was undertaken out of vanity.
What I have lost on its course
surely outweighs my gain.
Shipwrecks and misadventures
have stolen from me years, my claim
to your love, that in the interim
by rights may have graced another man.
It is with that thought my hands do shake.

I'm returning to you now as the man you needed then,
but I cannot help but wonder, am I too late?



. . .

The story of Odysseus and his quest to return to Penelope in Homer's Odyssey captures the drama of one of life's most enduring lessons: appreciate something before it is gone, because once it is, it may be too late.

Warrior's Oath

Lay me low so I may rise again, but while you’re laying waste remember; each new day finds its beginning from another’s end, the sun rises and at its height descends. Lay me low so I may find my roots. For when I fly at this height the Earth is so small and the sun so bright that it melts the wax and I plummet back to what I left. Lay me low so I may win glory. For joy is not in the destination, but the journey. Burn me into the dust, then from old ashes I’ll rise, finding new life. . . . This is a poem I wrote when thinking about what it means to find victory from defeat and the value of humility. I wrote it five years ago and it has become a personal mantra of sorts. From every experience, good or bad, there is a lesson to be learned, and in doing so an individual will never truly know defeat if they use that knowledge to grow. 

A Soldier's Pack

Seven years ago I picked up Steven Pressfield's narrative rendition of Alexander the Great's conquests, entitled Virtues of War, and was completely hooked by his extraordinary attention to detail. In the novel Pressfield demonstrated his vast knowledge of the people, places, and most importantly, the spirit of those ancient times.

When he released Virtue's sequel The Afghan Campaign two years later it was evident his passion for detail hadn't dimmed in the least.

Over all these years, a passage written in that book, by Pressfield's character personae Stephanos of Aegae, has stuck with me. The passage is a poem, which is beautiful in its fierce simplicity and genuineness. The poem reads:

Experience has taught the soldier how to
pack his pannier, with the stuff he needs most
near the top, where he can get at it. In the outer pockets
he stows his onions and garlic, sealed tight so they don't
stink up the weather kit and half-fleece on the other side.
At the bottom, deep inside, he stashes those items that must
at all costs be protected, against dust, against being
dropped, against all elements. There, in the doeskin
you gave me, I keep your letters, my darling wife.

Contents of The Afghan Campaign All rights reserved Steven Pressfield 2006.

Dear Alexander,

Like you I battled the Persians on Bactrian plains, to me wild Afghanistan bared its unruly head, leagues I have crossed to march on the Punjab. Entire legions have bent their knees to me, kings beyond count have paid homage to my crown. In the land of Egypt I was declared a god, and yet, still rugged Macedon I call home. Alexander, I wrote to tell you that today I became a man. For all the wars I have waged, there was but one battle left to win. In the looking glass I gazed and struck down the only enemy I have ever truly had.