tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3184575347466163757.post5041101374146553431..comments2023-07-03T08:51:01.209-05:00Comments on What Powderfinger Said . . . Observations on Life in the Dying Empire: Taking Off Emily Dickinson's ClothesAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00111660094586126379noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3184575347466163757.post-89753248247910888762008-10-31T14:03:00.000-05:002008-10-31T14:03:00.000-05:00I found the one I was looking for:The Revenant I a...I found the one I was looking for:<BR/><BR/>The Revenant <BR/><BR/>I am the dog you put to sleep,<BR/>as you like to call the needle of oblivion,<BR/>come back to tell you this simple thing:<BR/>I never liked you–not one bit.<BR/><BR/>When I licked your face,<BR/>I thought of biting off your nose.<BR/>When I watched you toweling yourself dry,<BR/>I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap.<BR/><BR/>I resented the way you moved,<BR/>your lack of animal grace,<BR/>the way you would sit in a chair and eat,<BR/>a napkin on your lap, knife in your hand.<BR/><BR/>I would have run away,<BR/>but I was too weak, a trick you taught me<BR/>while I was learning to sit and heel,<BR/>and–greatest of insults–shake hands without a hand.<BR/><BR/>I admit the sight of the leash<BR/>would excite me<BR/>but only because it meant I was about<BR/>to smell things you had never touched.<BR/><BR/>You do not want to believe this,<BR/>but I have no reason to lie.<BR/>I hated the car, the rubber toys,<BR/>disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives.<BR/><BR/>The jingling of my tags drove me mad.<BR/>You always scratched me in the wrong place.<BR/>All I ever wanted from you<BR/>was food and fresh water in my metal bowls.<BR/><BR/>While you slept, I watched you breathe<BR/>as the moon rose in the sky.<BR/>It took all my strength<BR/>not to raise my head and howl.<BR/><BR/>Now I am free of the collar,<BR/>the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater,<BR/>the absurdity of your lawn,<BR/>and that is all you need to know about this place<BR/><BR/>except what you already supposed<BR/>and are glad it did not happen sooner–<BR/>that everyone here can read and write,<BR/>the dogs in poetry, the cats and the others in prose.<BR/><BR/>You can see and hear him read this, and another dog poem <A HREF="http://mynameisroxie.com/roxie-reads-2/billy-collins-united-states-poet-laureate-2001-2003/" REL="nofollow">here</A>. <BR/><BR/>I'd add that I like the quote on your site, by Edward Zehr.Sid Schwabhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14182853083503404098noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3184575347466163757.post-32926205277794382342008-10-31T13:40:00.000-05:002008-10-31T13:40:00.000-05:00I went to Amherst College, have been to Emily Dick...I went to Amherst College, have been to Emily Dickenson's house. My roommate was an English major who wrote a lot about her then, and since, in his role as English prof. <BR/><BR/>I've heard Billy Collins read his poetry, love his wit and wisdom. I tried to find one I loved hearing, about his dog. Couldn't, in my brief attempt. But I also heard him read this, which I liked:<BR/><BR/><BR/>Forgetfulness<BR/>BY BILLY COLLINS<BR/><BR/>The name of the author is the first to go<BR/>followed obediently by the title, the plot,<BR/>the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel<BR/>which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,<BR/><BR/>as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor<BR/>decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,<BR/>to a little fishing village where there are no phones.<BR/><BR/>Long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye<BR/>and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,<BR/>and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,<BR/><BR/>something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,<BR/>the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.<BR/><BR/>Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,<BR/>it is not poised on the tip of your tongue<BR/>or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.<BR/><BR/>It has floated away down a dark mythological river<BR/>whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall<BR/><BR/>on your own way to oblivion where you will join those<BR/>who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.<BR/><BR/>No wonder you rise in the middle of the night<BR/>to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.<BR/>No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted<BR/>out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.Sid Schwabhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14182853083503404098noreply@blogger.com