Friday, July 20, 2007

Dog Poets

Well now that equilibrium is more or less restored after a couple nights sleep, I feel a bit embarrassed about losing my cool in public (see last post,"Jesus Christ"). (although I doubt that my version of "cool" meets the minumun legal definition) But, having one's inner sanctum suddenly invaded like that is a bit jarring. I don't have to go back there, however, and on the street, I can at least stay on the qui vivre and not be surprized.

This blog is about my sister's dog, Layla, who wrote a poem.
Layla was of indeterminate parentage but had the coloring, size and personality of a golden lab, as I recall.

I think not too many animals write poems, or if they do, it's about food, killing other species, and doing things in the neighbor's yard.

Actually, you might consider that analysis when reading your human poets. I mean, the subconscious will out, eh? Know what I'm sayin'?

Especially the "warrior poets". Dig it.

Anyway, my sister (she's the talented one, wonderful watercolorist), translated it and submitted it to some publication. She told me all about it but, of course, I forget.
Perhaps it was a competition of some sort.
Anyway, it got published, and for a while thereafter, the dog was getting fan mail.
Fortunately, fame went not to the dog's head, so there were no incidents of drug abuse.

Here is the poem

by Layla

The Bitch/ Man
Took us to the
Soft ground
and big wet

We did stick
and dig
and bird go
Muppet played bark

Many smells were ours
The moving nothing was cool
and the soft ground
was warm

There were no NO's
and our tounges laughed

Muppet was another dog in the family, looked like a foot stool.
They were both getting along in years and are now ex canis.



Blogger butch said...

Hey, I love the poem by Layla, and I strive to be a Dog Poet as well. So much so that I have "transcribed" a poem written by my dog, Taffy.


The Bitch
Feeds me better nice
Than the Himself.
She heats it warm
Or gravy smothers, and
He scrapes and pours
Wet or dry
Into bowls of chew glass;
But OK,
He is allow tongue many licks
From his dish,
And the Bitch holds out.

My yard is small,
With a steel fence of tall,
And over 13 summers,
I’ve peed on patch all;
Remembering those treasures
In dark garden corners,
Or porch unders—
Those bones and birds
I love to chew

My dog naps
Grow long and many,
Where I can romp
Without that bad pain stiffness
That catches up me
On stairs and leaps.

I pretend
To love my summer cuts,
With red ribbons tied
Behind those ears
That too much do not hear
When am I called
Or recalled.

Call I would be
Lucky dog,
Who loved is,
And my humans
Accept my kisses
And wags,
Fresh each time,
Lifting their spirit,
Widening their grins.

Yes, yes,
Know I too well
One day soon,
Or in the darkness,
I will not able be
To return
From the Spirit Land
I travel to
With lids down.

But in those times,
I will be pure love,
Light as sunray,
Warm and speeding travel.
I know
I will be able to fly
Like a maple leaf
In the wind.
Oh joy,
What adventure awaits!

Glenn Buttkus 2007.

God, the things that stimulate our creativity! Who would have thunk?


3:34 PM  
Blogger Lane Savant said...


10:11 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

TOO BAD layla is "ex canis"; I'd have loved to meet her and Margrit would love her poems. I especially love retrievers; they are the friendliest of dogs (at least to me).

3:48 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

For Butch & Bitch:
Taffy is a great poet(ess), too!!
You once wrote here that you wanted "face time" (your wording) with me; I want "nuzzle time" with Taffy, especially if (s)he is friendly.
- Anonomann

3:51 PM  

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