The Monkey’s Disgrace

17 comments

• Harleigh says:
  

  It was written by Dr F B Childress

• Carol Rawls says:
  

  My pastor. W A Criswell, used to recite this.

• margaret winfrow says:
  

  I love love love poetry with a message to give.

• Dennis says:
  

  I can remember this poem being given to me by some family friends after their return from New York in 1953.

• Arthur says:
  

  I agree with Shirley comments. I remember this poem from the early seventies.
  I had lost my written copy so was thankful that this was posted.
  Thsnks

• Shirley says:
  

  Over seventy years ago I saw this poem written on it. Mom bought one and was hung in our house for many years. I thought it was funny then and still do. I memorized it when I was young and was glad others remembered too.

• Lorraine Pankhurst says:
  

  Thanks for reproducing this treasure. Would you believe I’m going to use it in my
  Lenten Studies.

• Francis jewell says:
  

  I remember most of the real poem from the early sixties and it rhymes. Although this is part of the message, it is not the real poem. If you want the poem I will look through my materials and find it for you. This does not do this poem justice. Francis

• J. M. says:
  

  Upon realizing that, as a young girl, I’d stopped memorizing this at the “babies”, I was curious to know the poem’s ending and am delighted to find it here. Thank you so much Josef Essberger!

• Hector says:
  

  I love the poem. Would you know how to find out who´s the author?

• Albert Smith says:
  

  Regarding this poem, I have copied below 2 pages from a book on Medical Pioneers of Kentucky published by Univ. of Kentucky press in the 1950s. These are from the chapter on Lucius Earnest Smith MD, who was a medical missionary in Africa from 1916 to 1923 and later a pioneer in TB treatment and public health in KY. It mentions his writing of this poem around that time and prints the original wording. If anyone is interest in reading the entire article on him or seeing other literary works of his, I can attach copies of them to an email (aesvol[@]bellsouth.net). The original manuscripts of his are at the Presbyterian Historical Society in Philadelphia, and I hope to go there some time to study more of his writings. I think this is the true origin of this poem.

  Three monkeys sat in a coconut tree
  Discussing things as they’re said to be.
  Said one to the other “Now listen, you two,
  There’s a certain rumor that can’t be true,
  That man descended from our noble race.
  The very idea! It’s a dire disgrace.
  No monkey ever deserted his wife,
  Starved her baby, ruined her life.
  And you’ve never known a mother monk
  To leave her babies with others to bunk,
  Or pass them on, one to another
  ‘Til they scarcely know who is their mother.
  And another thing, you’ll never see
  A monk build a fence round a coconut tree
  And let the coconuts go to waste,
  Forbidding all other monks a taste.
  Why, if I put a fence around this tree
  Starvation would force you to steal from me.
  Here’s another thing a monk won’t do,
  Go out at night and get on a stew,
  Or use a gun or club or knife
  To take some other monkey’s life.
  Yes, man descended, the ornery cuss,
  But brother, he didn’t descend from us.”

  No greater tribute could have been given Dr. Smith than this open acknowledgment of the achievements of the association he had guided for so many years.

  At this time, in 1953, his vitality and stamina belied his age. Returning to the old Lexington home, he found the roof in need of repair and brought a man to do the job. Taking a quick look at the steep flight of steps leading to the attic roof, he told the doctor “it was impossible for a man in his early sixties to climb up there.” “Well, sir, I’m only in my early seventies,” replied Dr. Smith, as he sped nimbly up the stairs to the roof.

  In 1954, Dr. Smith suffered a slight apoplectic stroke and death came one year later from heart disease, two months short of his 77th birthday. Until the end, his attitude toward life and purposeful living was the same as he had expressed in the Owensboro Diary of 1900: “I don’t know how long the journey, how rough the trails, how many rivers to cross or how deep the fords may be, but I know there will be one Friend who will go with me all the way. I shall not walk any of the journey alone.”

  He was a man of more than ordinary gifts, but was among the voiceless of his profession. From personal letters and other documents, there is abundant evidence of a wide range of interests reaching beyond his chosen vocations, even into the realms of music and literary composition in more or less seriocomic vein. Referring to his favorite African pets, an undated poem about monkeys was probably written in the early 1920’s at the time of the Scopes trial in Dayton, Tennessee.

  Summing up Dr. Smith’s career, truer words than these were never spoken: “Each man makes his own stature, builds himself.” A rugged pioneer, in early life he developed that rare temper measured by good humor under stress, courage in the face of danger, and profound faith in time of trouble.

  As real stature is measured by the height of one’s ideals and the corresponding level of personal behavior, so he has attained to greatness.

  Now he lives, long after his work is done, to inspire continued progress in community medicine and study of tuberculosis and other lung diseases.

  A fitting epitaph to his undying spirit, the L. E. Smith Memorial Fund, under the sponsorship of the Kentucky Tuberculosis Association and local affiliates, was set up at the time of his death in 1955. These funds have promoted medical education and research by providing future doctors with training facilities for diagnosis and treatment of pulmonary diseases, and sponsored annual lectures by prominent authorities in the field. The fund also has provided summer scholarships for a number of medical students from the University of Kentucky Medical Center engaged in tuberculosis eradication projects in underdeveloped areas of Kentucky.

  * * * * A fragment of immortality-perhaps, for Dr. L. E. Smith, who
  would never have asked so much.

• Adrian says:
  

  @Gierman
  This page does not claim authorship for this poem. It specifically says “Author unknown” at the end.

• Gierman says:
  

  We have 489 letters from my Dad 1918-2007 written between 1940 and 1944. Many letters included a poem about my Mother, or his Mother or where he was located or what was happening. A 1941 letter includes the poem about 3 monkeys in a coconut tree. It is similar to the his other poems in many ways. In some letters he writes more than one line and crosses it out to change a word or phrase. SO we always thought he wrote the poem. I have checked out all the other poems, searching the internet, and found none that is claimed by any one EXCEPT this one. Would like to know the truth. Thank you.

• James Little says:
  

  My Uncle Ralph H. Little (1908-1999), Days Creek, Oregon was an self taught poet. He wrote Monkey’s Disgrace in the 1940s. I am published a book about him this year…Sweet and Sour Uncle.

• Bijan says:
  

  Hello, Teacher Josep,
  Thank you so much.

  Best wishes,
  Bijan
  from the Persian Gulf

• Piroska says:
  

  It is very nice to read something from Josep Essberger
  after a long time.

• NotAClue says:
  

  Yeah, obviously someone didn’t do their homework… ‘Cause monkeys are not as nice as the writer thinks. It’s common that the new leader kills infants that are not his. Even infant kills by the mother have been documented in the wild. Generally speaking is aggression used in establishing and maintaining dominance hierarchies. (I’m not talking about the poor creatures living in Zoos and Circuses, which of course show all signs of compulsive behavior caused by this captivity.) Well, at least they haven’t tried to destroy their planet like humans do every day…

  Greetings from an unknown monkey ;-)
  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Infanticide_in_primates