 Poetry: July 25, 2012 Issue [#5177] |
  Poetry
This week: Dances with Dogs Edited by: Quizmo LaGrande  
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"The dog is a yes-animal, very popular with people who can't afford to keep a yes-man." ~Robertson Davies
Dancing Dog
John Mcmair
My doggy likes to disco dance.
He boogies every night.
He dances in his doghouse
till the early morning light.
The other dogs come running
when they hear my doggy swing.
A few will play their instruments.
The others dance and sing.
They pair off with their partners
as their tails begin to wag.
They love to do the bunny hop,
the fox trot and the shag.
You'll see the doghouse rockin'
as a hundred dogs or more
all trip the light fantastic
on the doghouse disco floor.
At last, at dawn, they exit
in the early morning breeze,
and stop to sniff the fire hydrants,
bushes, lawns and trees.
I just don't understand it
for although it looks like fun.
I can't see how they fit inside
that doghouse built for one.
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I don't know why it is, but I have a huge soft spot for animals, pets, but dogs in particular. Dogs have always been a huge part of my life. Seems I've always had a four-footed best friend with me everywhere I go.
These past couple of years, my trusty Ado Annie, a gorgeous white German Shepherd, has been my constant companion. I'm a bit of a loner, so on our recent journeys cross-country, she not only protects (and a fine job she does) and keeps me company, but she agrees with almost everything I say, likes the same music, and doesn't even mind my banjo playing or ear-splitting attempts at yodeling-heck, she even tries to sing along! Wish I could say the same for some of my fellas.
But alas, dogs don't live as long as us, and if you're a dog lover, I'm sure you'll agree the most painful thing in the world is to let one go. I am devastated for weeks. No matter that my brain understands and accepts the passage, and I know it was all good and as it should be, my heart, which honored and loved that dog so dang much, just doesn't listen and I can't turn off the water-works.
And ain't it the truth, you swear you'll never get another dog cause you know your broken heart will never mend and you could never possibly survive another shattering? But your it does heal, and the magic is that your heart gets BIGGER, though you don't realize it until... those big brown eyes lock on to yours and in a instant... in one god-to-dog instant, you're hooked and you've got yourself another hound.
And once again, you do the dance.
In honor of our furry friends, let's waltz through some differing points of the canine perspective, poetically speaking, that is.
Here are two fabulous pieces by U.S. Poet Laureate, Billy Collins:
A Dog on his Master
Billy Collins
As young as I look,
I am growing older faster than he,
seven to one
is the ratio they tend to say.
Whatever the number,
I will pass him one day
and take the lead
the way I do on our walks in the woods.
And if this ever manages
to cross his mind,
it would be the sweetest
shadow I have ever cast on snow or grass.
The Revenant
Billy Collins
I am the dog you put to sleep,
as you like to call the needle of oblivion,
come back to tell you this simple thing:
I never liked you--not one bit.
When I licked your face,
I thought of biting off your nose.
When I watched you toweling yourself dry,
I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap.
I resented the way you moved,
your lack of animal grace,
the way you would sit in a chair to eat,
a napkin on your lap, knife in your hand.
I would have run away,
but I was too weak, a trick you taught me
while I was learning to sit and heel,
and--greatest of insults--shake hands without a hand.
I admit the sight of the leash
would excite me
but only because it meant I was about
to smell things you had never touched.
You do not want to believe this,
but I have no reason to lie.
I hated the car, the rubber toys,
disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives.
The jingling of my tags drove me mad.
You always scratched me in the wrong place.
All I ever wanted from you
was food and fresh water in my metal bowls.
While you slept, I watched you breathe
as the moon rose in the sky.
It took all of my strength
not to raise my head and howl.
Now I am free of the collar,
the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater,
the absurdity of your lawn,
and that is all you need to know about this place
except what you already supposed
and are glad it did not happen sooner--
that everyone here can read and write,
the dogs in poetry, the cats and the others in prose.
* * *
A grieving master thoughts... (might want to grab a tissue!)
Loyal
William Matthews
They gave him an overdose
of anesthetic, and its fog
shut down his heart in seconds.
I tried to hold him, but he was
somewhere else. For so much love
one of the principals is missing,
it's no wonder we confuse love
with longing. Oh I was thick
with both. I wanted my dog
to live forever and while I was
working on impossibilities
I wanted to live forever, too.
I wanted company and to be alone.
I wanted to know how they trash
a stiff ninety-five-pound dog
and I paid them to do it
and not tell me. What else?
I wanted a letter of apology
delivered by decrepit hand,
by someone shattered for each time
I'd had to eat pure pain. I wanted
to weep, not "like a baby,"
in gulps and breath-stretching
howls, but steadily, like an adult,
according to the fiction
that there is work to be done,
and almost inconsolably.
from Selected Poems and Translations 1969-1991, 1992
Houghton Mifflin, New York, NY
* * *
Then of course, not everyone loves dogs. Here's a cute ditty by Judith Viorst
Mother Doesn't Want a Dog
Mother doesn't want a dog.
Mother says they smell,
And never sit when you say sit,
Or even when you yell.
And when you come home late at night
And there is ice and snow,
You have to go back out because
The dumb dog has to go.
Mother doesn't want a dog.
Mother says they shed,
And always let the strangers in
And bark at friends instead,
And do disgraceful things on rugs,
And track mud on the floor,
And flop upon your bed at night
And snore their doggy snore.
Mother doesn't want a dog.
She's making a mistake.
Because, more than a dog, I think
She will not want this snake.
* * *
May all you dances be filled with joy--
Love and peace to you and all your furry friends! |
Don't put your tissues away yet. I love these wonderful heartfelt pieces by our own WDC poets.
| |  | Flapper (E)
Flapper was my first dog. I was 5 when we got her and she lived to be 19.
#1026231 by Ssarra |
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Stephanie Grace kindly sent in her comments on last month's edition:
Thank you for an uplifting newsletter and for the reminder to look to nature (except for me right now --Summer makes me depressed.). 
Your suggestion to write down things we appreciate reminded me of a website that I really should get active in again so I thought I would share it with you: graceinsmallthings.com
Thank you, Stephanie, for the lead to the lovely website. You might also like to look into GratitudeLog.com. Perhaps you can try posting all the nice things about summer, no matter how small, to help keep you on the sunny side. Better yet, why don't you write us a poem!? 
* * *
G. B. Williams  writes:
You started your newsletter off with one of my favorite poems, and quickly got my interest. I have also written a poem about trees because I do so like trees and nature. I also believe that we should take the time to smell the roses, taste the coffee, feel the breeze, and yes, appreciate the beauty of trees. Thanks for sharing.
I'm so glad I got GB's attention. I peeked in her port, and yup, our girl sure does like trees...
I particularly like this line: I like trees because they never attempt to be anything but trees.
Thanks, GB!
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Here's a little gift in appreciation from embe :
Thank you for the lovely newsletter, sharing my poem of nature with you - | | | Invalid Item
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And thanks to Quick-Quill  riding the welcome wagon:
Glad to have you in the PACNW. I am in Portland! Lived in Tacoma for a few months. We're neighbors!
Yay! Nice to know there are "kindred" spirits nearby. It's so beautiful up here... totally awe inspiring! 
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