Not all stories are happy. Today I recognize poet Spike Milligan and his poignant poem The Dog Lovers. Briefly, “Terence Alan “Spike” MilliganKBE (16 April 1918 – 27 February 2002) was a British-Irish actor, comedian, writer, musician, poet, and playwright.” He is also cited as having a major influence on The Monty Python Flying Circus. See https://mshistorytoday.com/spike-milligan/
While noted for his comedy, Spike Milligan could also describe tragedy. For example:
The Dog Lovers
by Spike Milligan
So, they bought you And kept you in a Very good home Cental heating TV A deep freeze A very good home- No one to take you For that lovely long run- But otherwise ‘A very good home’ They fed you Pal and Chum But not that lovely long run, Until, mad with energy and boredom You escaped- and ran and ran and ran Under a car. Today they will cry for you- Tomorrow they will buy another dog.
Paisley Rekdal teaches at the University of Utah and was the state’s Poet Laureate from 2017 – 2022. She has received many awards and scholarships and writes both fiction and poetry. For her biography and bibliography see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paisley_Rekdal and https://www.paisleyrekdal.com/
Today’s dog poem comes from her 2016 book Imaginary Vessels
Once
by Paisley Rekdal
white field. And the dog dashing past me into the blank,
toward the nothing. Or: not running anymore but
this idea of him, still in his gold fur, being
what I loved him for first, so that now on the blankets piled
in one corner of the animal hospital where they’ve brought him out
a final hour, two, before the needle with its cold
pronouncements, he trembles with what he once was: breath
and muscle puncturing the snow, sudden stetting over the tips
of the meadow’s buried grasses after–what was it, a rabbit?
Field mouse? Dashing past me on my skis, for the first time
faster, as if he had been hiding this, his good uses. What
a shock to watch what you know unfold deeper into, or out of
itself. It is like loving an animal: hopeless, an extravagance
we were meant for: startled, continually, by what we’re willing
to feel. The tips of the grasses high in the white. And the flat
light, drops of water on the gold coat, the red, the needle
moving in, then out, and now the sound of an animal rushing past me in the snow.
Today’s dog poem comes from her award-winning 2019 book Sunbathing on Tyrone Power’s Grave:
Naming the Puppy
by Kim Dower
They’re young and in love so they think of human names: Zoe, Ruby, Judy — like the name of a girl you’d sit next to in math. They move on to dog baby names, Lamby, Girl, Puppy. They like Puppy so for an hour, that’s what she’s called. Come here, Puppy, they sing, her paws — pink, tender — slide across the room. Puppy’s a sweet name, I tell them, but soon your puppy won’t be a puppy, and when she hurtles through the park her teeth locked onto a sloppy stick, a pit bull chasing her down, how’ll it sound when you call, Puppy, Puppy, your voices airy as frisbees floating across the grass. I watch the puppy lick my son’s lips, nibble his girlfriend’s nose, devour their faces, as if they were made of sugar, devoted fur ball all ears and eyes, eyes that have been on this earth before. By dinnertime her name is Gwen, a star’s name, a nurse’s, or what you’d call the middle child of a noisy family. I watch Gwen pour herself into their arms. There is no name for the way she loves them. No name for a sun that shines only for you.
The 17th of September is the feast day of Abbess Hildegard of Bingen, a remarkable and prophetic woman, who described herself as ‘a feather on the breath of God’, and whose many works in theology, music, visual art, poetry and drama are still inspiring people today. Indeed she is coming more and more into her own, as one of her key ideas ‘Viriditas’, or the greening and life-renewing work of the Holy Spirit, seems especially apposite for our time. See this page on her by a contemporary Benedictine.
Paul now describes himself as “an old poet” and wrote this poem:
Dog Music
by Paul Zimmer
Amongst dogs are listeners and singers. My big dog sang with me so purely, puckering her ruffled lips into an O, beginning with small, swallowing sounds like Coltrane musing, then rising to power and resonance, gulping air to continue— her passion and sense of flawless form— singing not with me, but for the art of dogs. We joined in many fine songs—’Stardust,’ ‘Naima,’ ‘The Trout,’ ‘My Rosary,’ ‘Perdido.’
She was a great master and died young, leaving me with unrelieved grief, her talents known to only a few.
Now I have a small dog who does not sing, but listens with discernment, requiring skill and spirit in my falsetto voice. I sing her name and words of love andante, con brio, vivace, adagio. Sometimes she is so moved she turns
to place a paw across her snout, closes her eyes, sighing like a girl I held and danced with years ago.
But I am a pretender to dog music. The true strains rise only from the rich, red chambers of a canine heart, these melodies best when the moon is up, listeners and singers together or apart, beyond friendship and anger, far from any human imposter— ballads of long nights lifting to starlight, songs of bones, turds, conquests, hunts, smells, rankings, things settled long before our birth.
(Frederick) Ogden Nash (born 1902 in Rye, New York and died 1971 in Baltimore, Maryland) was cited by The New York Times as “America’s best-known producer of humorous poetry.” Nash once remarked, “I could have loved New York had I not loved Balti-more.” He composed over 500 pieces and was known for his unconventional rhyming schemes. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ogden_Nash
Here is one of his famous poems about dogs:
Two Dogs HaveI
by Ogden Nash
For years we’ve had a little dog, Last year we acquired a big dog; He wasn’t big when we got him, He was littler than the dog we had. We thought our little dog would love him, Would help him to become a trig dog, But the new little dog got bigger, And the old little dog got mad.
Now the big dog loves the little dog, But the little dog hates the big dog, The little dog is eleven years old, And the big dog only one; The little dog calls him Schweinhund, The little dog calls him Pig-dog, She grumbles broken curses As she dreams in the August sun.
The big dog’s teeth are terrible, But he wouldn’t bite the little dog; The little dog wants to grind his bones, But the little dog has no teeth; The big dog is acrobatic, The little dog is a brittle dog; She leaps to grip his jugular, And passes underneath.
The big dog clings to the little dog Like glue and cement and mortar; The little dog is his own true love; But the big dog is to her Like a scarlet rag to a Longhorn, Or a suitcase to a porter; The day he sat on the hornet I distinctly heard her purr.
Well, how can you blame the little dog, Who was once the household darling? He romps like a young Adonis, She droops like an old mustache; No wonder she steals his corner, No wonder she comes out snarling, No wonder she calls him Cochon And even Espèce de vache.
Yet once I wanted a sandwich, Either caviar or cucumber, When the sun had not yet risen And the moon had not yet sank; As I tiptoed through the hallway The big dog lay in slumber, And the little dog slept by the big dog, And her head was on his flank.
Poet Edgar Albert Guest (born 1881in Birmingham, England died 1959 in Detroit, Michigan) is one of my first poetry heroes. He published some 11,000 poems in the Detroit Free Press and syndicated across 300 other newspapers. Known for his optimistic and sentimental verse, Guest was named Poet Laureate of Michigan, my home state. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edgar_A._Guest
This is one of his famous poems about dogs:
A Boy And His Dog
by Edgar Albert Guest
A boy and his dog make a glorious pair: No better friendship is found anywhere, For they talk and they walk and they run and they play, And they have their deep secrets for many a day; And that boy has a comrade who thinks and who feels, Who walks down the road with a dog at his heels. He may go where he will and his dog will be there, May revel in mud and his dog will not care; Faithful he’ll stay for the slightest command And bark with delight at the touch of his hand; Oh, he owns a treasure which nobody steals, Who walks down the road with a dog at his heels. No other can lure him away from his side; He’s proof against riches and station and pride; Fine dress does not charm him, and flattery’s breath Is lost on the dog, for he’s faithful to death; He sees the great soul which the body conceals- Oh, it’s great to be young with a dog at your heels!
“Famed for his rapier wit as much as his ill-temperament, Henry Louis (H.L.) Mencken rose to national prominence as a journalist and correspondent for the Baltimore Sun.” See https://allthatsinteresting.com/hl-mencken-quotes
Two of my favorite Mencken quotes are: “After all is said and done … a lot more is said than done.” and “When somebody says it’s not about the money, it’s about the money.”
Tree of Life Pet Memorial Room at Stray Rescue of St. LouisOne leaf on the Tree of Life for our companionEtta Pearl, blind, deaf Min Pin Doxie
The second Sunday of September has been designated as National Pet Memorial Day since 1972. “When a beloved pet dies it’s like losing a member of the family, so this holiday exists to allow pet owners to grieve and to honor the memory of their pets. It doesn’t matter if the pet lost is a cat, dog, bird, or fish, pets can provide companionship and comfort that’s worthy of being remembered on this day of remembrance.” See https://www.holidayscalendar.com/event/national-pet-memorial-day/
Two poems are offered today. The first comes from my book NATURAL BEAUTY AND OTHER POEMS published earlier this year.
Who Rescues Who?
In one year’s time, we have “rescued” five dogs. Or, more accurately, they have rescued me. They’ve taught or tried to teach me patience as well as gratitude and humility. Any failures were not on account of their teaching ability.
Who are they, who were they, what are their names? First, a spaniel, named Rosie. Second, an island dog from St. Thomas. Third was Etta, a blind, deaf Min Pin Doxie, and fourth, a nameless Golden Chow puppy.
Two of them came “knocking” on our back door; we brought them in, cleaned them up, had a vet check. One we fostered until a family adopted, one we adopted until heavenly-trekked. All were heart-touching, worth loving and divine respect.
We now have four adopted rescues as part of our family, all four elders in their respective breed. We are grateful to serve full- or part-time. Their presence reminds us of our interbeing creed. Their love brings tears and confirms our mutual need.
Second, is today’s haiku: National Pet Memorial Day
Life Matters 