Looking for pet-themed poetry
August 8, 2013 4:41 PM Subscribe
Mr. Lucid and I put our lovely cat to sleep after her brave battle with kidney disease. I'd like to send an uplifting poem to the vets and vet staff who have helped our family so much. I'm looking for poetry that is specific to pets and animals and speaks to the value of having them in our lives, but also expresses gratitude for those in the helping professions who mean so much to their four-legged patients.
We are so appreciative of the vet techs and veterinarians that worked with us and supported our sweet cat through the past 8 months. They've literally laughed and cried with us, and were so supportive, compassionate and understanding through the difficulty of having to put her down.
They have a wall for their clients to put up messages and thank-you's. I'd like to write them a thank-you note, but in addition I would like to send a small gift as a token of our appreciation, and I thought a thoughtful poem would be appropriate. The only poetry I am really familiar with is Mary Oliver, and I appreciate her contemporary style and accessibility. So, I need some suggestions : ) Any and all are welcome.
Thank you in advance.
We are so appreciative of the vet techs and veterinarians that worked with us and supported our sweet cat through the past 8 months. They've literally laughed and cried with us, and were so supportive, compassionate and understanding through the difficulty of having to put her down.
They have a wall for their clients to put up messages and thank-you's. I'd like to write them a thank-you note, but in addition I would like to send a small gift as a token of our appreciation, and I thought a thoughtful poem would be appropriate. The only poetry I am really familiar with is Mary Oliver, and I appreciate her contemporary style and accessibility. So, I need some suggestions : ) Any and all are welcome.
Thank you in advance.
To A Cat
Algernon Charles Swinburne
I
Stately, kindly, lordly friend,
Condescend
Here to sit by me, and turn
Glorious eyes that smile and burn,
Golden eyes, love’s lustrous meed,
On the golden page I read.
All your wondrous wealth of hair,
Dark and fair,
Silken-shaggy, soft and bright
As the clouds and beams of night,
Pays my reverent hand’s caress
Back with friendlier gentleness.
Dogs may fawn on all and some
As they come;
You, a friend of loftier mind,
Answer friends alone in kind.
Just your foot upon my hand
Softly bids it understand.
Morning round this silent sweet
Garden-seat
Sheds its wealth of gathering light,
Thrills the gradual clouds with might,
Changes woodland, orchard, heath,
Lawn, and garden there beneath.
Fair and dim they gleamed below:
Now they glow
Deep as even your sunbright eyes,
Fair as even the wakening skies.
Can it not or can it be
Now that you give thanks to see?
May not you rejoice as I,
Seeing the sky
Change to heaven revealed, and bid
Earth reveal the heaven it hid
All night long from stars and moon,
Now the sun sets all in tune?
What within you wakes with day
Who can say?
All too little may we tell,
Friends who like each other well,
What might haply, if we might,
Bid us read our lives aright.
II
Wild on woodland ways your sires
Flashed like fires:
Fair as flame and fierce and fleet
As with wings on wingless feet
Shone and sprang your mother, free,
Bright and brave as wind or sea.
Free and proud and glad as they,
Here to-day
Rests or roams their radiant child,
Vanquished not, but reconciled,
Free from curb of aught above
Save the lovely curb of love.
Love through dreams of souls divine
Fain would shine
Round a dawn whose light and song
Then should right our mutual wrong—
Speak, and seal the love-lit law
Sweet Assisi’s seer foresaw.
Dreams were theirs; yet haply may
Dawn a day
When such friends and fellows born,
Seeing our earth as fair at morn,
May for wiser love’s sake see
More of heaven’s deep heart than we.
~~~~
I'm so sorry about the loss of your lovely cat. I'm glad you were supported and cared for while you were supporting and caring for her.
posted by janey47 at 4:55 PM on August 8, 2013 [6 favorites]
Algernon Charles Swinburne
I
Stately, kindly, lordly friend,
Condescend
Here to sit by me, and turn
Glorious eyes that smile and burn,
Golden eyes, love’s lustrous meed,
On the golden page I read.
All your wondrous wealth of hair,
Dark and fair,
Silken-shaggy, soft and bright
As the clouds and beams of night,
Pays my reverent hand’s caress
Back with friendlier gentleness.
Dogs may fawn on all and some
As they come;
You, a friend of loftier mind,
Answer friends alone in kind.
Just your foot upon my hand
Softly bids it understand.
Morning round this silent sweet
Garden-seat
Sheds its wealth of gathering light,
Thrills the gradual clouds with might,
Changes woodland, orchard, heath,
Lawn, and garden there beneath.
Fair and dim they gleamed below:
Now they glow
Deep as even your sunbright eyes,
Fair as even the wakening skies.
Can it not or can it be
Now that you give thanks to see?
May not you rejoice as I,
Seeing the sky
Change to heaven revealed, and bid
Earth reveal the heaven it hid
All night long from stars and moon,
Now the sun sets all in tune?
What within you wakes with day
Who can say?
All too little may we tell,
Friends who like each other well,
What might haply, if we might,
Bid us read our lives aright.
II
Wild on woodland ways your sires
Flashed like fires:
Fair as flame and fierce and fleet
As with wings on wingless feet
Shone and sprang your mother, free,
Bright and brave as wind or sea.
Free and proud and glad as they,
Here to-day
Rests or roams their radiant child,
Vanquished not, but reconciled,
Free from curb of aught above
Save the lovely curb of love.
Love through dreams of souls divine
Fain would shine
Round a dawn whose light and song
Then should right our mutual wrong—
Speak, and seal the love-lit law
Sweet Assisi’s seer foresaw.
Dreams were theirs; yet haply may
Dawn a day
When such friends and fellows born,
Seeing our earth as fair at morn,
May for wiser love’s sake see
More of heaven’s deep heart than we.
~~~~
I'm so sorry about the loss of your lovely cat. I'm glad you were supported and cared for while you were supporting and caring for her.
posted by janey47 at 4:55 PM on August 8, 2013 [6 favorites]
Almost forgot - there is an abundance of good stuff in T.S. Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.
posted by jquinby at 4:56 PM on August 8, 2013 [1 favorite]
posted by jquinby at 4:56 PM on August 8, 2013 [1 favorite]
Best answer: Dog in Bed
Joyce Sidman
Nose tucked under tail.
You are a warm, furred planet
centered in my bed.
All night I orbit, tangle-limbed,
in the slim space
allotted to me.
If I accidentally
bump you from sleep,
you shift, groan,
drape your chin on my hip.
Oh that languid, movie-star drape!
I can never resist it.
Digging my fingers into your fur,
kneading,
I wonder:
How do you dream?
What do you adore?
Why should your black silk ears
feel like happiness?
This is how it is with love.
Once invited,
it steps in gently,
circles twice,
and takes up as much space
as you will give it.
I don't know if you are specifically looking for cat poems or just pets in general, I love this poem as I own a dog whose ears feel like happiness, but without the title this could so about a cat too.
posted by wwax at 5:39 PM on August 8, 2013 [13 favorites]
Joyce Sidman
Nose tucked under tail.
You are a warm, furred planet
centered in my bed.
All night I orbit, tangle-limbed,
in the slim space
allotted to me.
If I accidentally
bump you from sleep,
you shift, groan,
drape your chin on my hip.
Oh that languid, movie-star drape!
I can never resist it.
Digging my fingers into your fur,
kneading,
I wonder:
How do you dream?
What do you adore?
Why should your black silk ears
feel like happiness?
This is how it is with love.
Once invited,
it steps in gently,
circles twice,
and takes up as much space
as you will give it.
I don't know if you are specifically looking for cat poems or just pets in general, I love this poem as I own a dog whose ears feel like happiness, but without the title this could so about a cat too.
posted by wwax at 5:39 PM on August 8, 2013 [13 favorites]
Billy Collins' Horoscopes for the Dead has more than one poem about dogs. My favorite is "Good News." I'm sorry for your loss. I think the folks at the vet's office would appreciate this one.
When the news came in over the phone
that you did not have cancer, as they first thought.
I was in the kitchen trying to follow a recipe,
glancing from cookbook to stove,
shifting my glasses from my nose to my forehead and back,
a recipe, as it turned out, for ratatouille,
a complicated vegetable dish
which you or any other dog would turn up your nose at.
If you had been here, I imagine
you would have been curled up by the door
sleeping with your head resting on your tail.
And after I learned that you were not sick,
everything took on a different look
and appeared to be better than it usually is.
For example (and that’s the first and last time
I will ever use those words in a poem),
I decided I should grate some cheese,
not even knowing if it was right for ratatouille,
and the sight of the cheese grater
with its red handle lying in the drawer
with all the other utensils made me marvel
at how this thing was so perfectly able and ready
to grate cheese just as you with your long smile
and your brown and white coat
are perfectly designed to be the dog you perfectly are.
posted by Fichereader at 5:39 PM on August 8, 2013 [3 favorites]
When the news came in over the phone
that you did not have cancer, as they first thought.
I was in the kitchen trying to follow a recipe,
glancing from cookbook to stove,
shifting my glasses from my nose to my forehead and back,
a recipe, as it turned out, for ratatouille,
a complicated vegetable dish
which you or any other dog would turn up your nose at.
If you had been here, I imagine
you would have been curled up by the door
sleeping with your head resting on your tail.
And after I learned that you were not sick,
everything took on a different look
and appeared to be better than it usually is.
For example (and that’s the first and last time
I will ever use those words in a poem),
I decided I should grate some cheese,
not even knowing if it was right for ratatouille,
and the sight of the cheese grater
with its red handle lying in the drawer
with all the other utensils made me marvel
at how this thing was so perfectly able and ready
to grate cheese just as you with your long smile
and your brown and white coat
are perfectly designed to be the dog you perfectly are.
posted by Fichereader at 5:39 PM on August 8, 2013 [3 favorites]
I realized just now that I went entirely against what you asked for. You want modern poetry about the value of animals and service to them, and I gave you an ancient elegy to a cat.
Here are a couple by Billy Collins. Modern and I find them very thoughtful. But he also keeps them really lighthearted, as you will see:
The Revenant
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.
~~~~~~~~
Dharma
The way the dog trots out the front door
every morning
without a hat or an umbrella,
without any money
or the keys to her doghouse
never fails to fill the saucer of my heart
with milky admiration.
Who provides a finer example
of a life without encumbrance—
Thoreau in his curtainless hut
with a single plate, a single spoon?
Gandhi with his staff and his holy diapers?
Off she goes into the material world
with nothing but her brown coat
and her modest blue collar,
following only her wet nose,
the twin portals of her steady breathing,
followed only by the plume of her tail.
If only she did not shove the cat aside
every morning
and eat all his food
what a model of self-containment she
would be,
what a paragon of earthly detachment.
If only she were not so eager
for a rub behind the ears,
so acrobatic in her welcomes,
if only I were not her god.
~~~~~~
The Order of the Day
A morning after a week of rain
and the sun shot down through the branches
and into the tall, bare windows.
The brindled cat rolled over on his back,
and I could hear you in the kitchen
grinding coffee beans into a powder.
Everything seemed especially vivid
because I knew we were all going to die,
first the cat, then you, then me,
then somewhat later the liquefied sun
was the order I was envisioning.
But then again, you never really know.
The cat had a fiercely healthy look,
his coat so bristling and electric
I wondered what you had been feeding him
and what you had been feeding me
as I turned a corner
and beheld you out on the sunny deck now
running in place—
knees lifted high, skin
glistening, and that toothy, immortal smile.
~~~~
This one is sad and very much to the point:
PUTTING DOWN THE CAT
The assistant holds her on the table,
the fur hanging limp from her tiny skeleton,
and the veterinarian raises the needle of fluid
which will put the line through her ninth life.
"Painless," he reassures me, "like counting
backwards from a hundred," but I want to tell him
that our poor cat cannot count at all,
much less to a hundred, much less backwards.
posted by janey47 at 5:40 PM on August 8, 2013 [4 favorites]
Here are a couple by Billy Collins. Modern and I find them very thoughtful. But he also keeps them really lighthearted, as you will see:
The Revenant
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.
~~~~~~~~
Dharma
The way the dog trots out the front door
every morning
without a hat or an umbrella,
without any money
or the keys to her doghouse
never fails to fill the saucer of my heart
with milky admiration.
Who provides a finer example
of a life without encumbrance—
Thoreau in his curtainless hut
with a single plate, a single spoon?
Gandhi with his staff and his holy diapers?
Off she goes into the material world
with nothing but her brown coat
and her modest blue collar,
following only her wet nose,
the twin portals of her steady breathing,
followed only by the plume of her tail.
If only she did not shove the cat aside
every morning
and eat all his food
what a model of self-containment she
would be,
what a paragon of earthly detachment.
If only she were not so eager
for a rub behind the ears,
so acrobatic in her welcomes,
if only I were not her god.
~~~~~~
The Order of the Day
A morning after a week of rain
and the sun shot down through the branches
and into the tall, bare windows.
The brindled cat rolled over on his back,
and I could hear you in the kitchen
grinding coffee beans into a powder.
Everything seemed especially vivid
because I knew we were all going to die,
first the cat, then you, then me,
then somewhat later the liquefied sun
was the order I was envisioning.
But then again, you never really know.
The cat had a fiercely healthy look,
his coat so bristling and electric
I wondered what you had been feeding him
and what you had been feeding me
as I turned a corner
and beheld you out on the sunny deck now
running in place—
knees lifted high, skin
glistening, and that toothy, immortal smile.
~~~~
This one is sad and very much to the point:
PUTTING DOWN THE CAT
The assistant holds her on the table,
the fur hanging limp from her tiny skeleton,
and the veterinarian raises the needle of fluid
which will put the line through her ninth life.
"Painless," he reassures me, "like counting
backwards from a hundred," but I want to tell him
that our poor cat cannot count at all,
much less to a hundred, much less backwards.
posted by janey47 at 5:40 PM on August 8, 2013 [4 favorites]
Response by poster: Thread-sitting here, thank you all for these suggestions! The best answered ones are closest to what I initially was looking for, but I'm so appreciative of all of the suggestions. Keep them coming : )
posted by luciddream928 at 6:08 PM on August 8, 2013
posted by luciddream928 at 6:08 PM on August 8, 2013
Christopher Smart's extremely odd and ecstatically religious poem Jubilate Agno has praise of the characteristics of many animals. The mouse, and the cat, and specifically Smart's cat Jeoffrey, receive special attention in Fragment B, part 4.
posted by jackbishop at 7:08 PM on August 8, 2013
posted by jackbishop at 7:08 PM on August 8, 2013
Best answer: The House Dog's Grave
by Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962)
I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now
Run with you in the evenings along the shore,
Except in a kind of dream; and you,
If you dream a moment,
You see me there.
So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door
Where I used to scratch to go out or in,
And you'd soon open; leave on the kitchen floor
The marks of my drinking-pan.
I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
On the warm stone,
Nor at the foot of your bed; no,
All the nights through I lie alone.
But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
Outside your window where firelight so often plays,
And where you sit to read‚
And I fear often grieving for me‚
Every night your lamplight lies on my place.
You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard
To think of you ever dying.
A little dog would get tired, living so long.
I hope that when you are lying
Under the ground like me your lives will appear
As good and joyful as mine.
No, dears, that's too much hope:
You are not so well cared for as I have been.
And never have known the passionate undivided
Fidelities that I knew.
Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided...
But to me you were true.
You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures
To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,
I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.
(For Haig, an English bulldog.)
posted by PussKillian at 7:14 PM on August 8, 2013 [8 favorites]
by Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962)
I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now
Run with you in the evenings along the shore,
Except in a kind of dream; and you,
If you dream a moment,
You see me there.
So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door
Where I used to scratch to go out or in,
And you'd soon open; leave on the kitchen floor
The marks of my drinking-pan.
I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
On the warm stone,
Nor at the foot of your bed; no,
All the nights through I lie alone.
But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
Outside your window where firelight so often plays,
And where you sit to read‚
And I fear often grieving for me‚
Every night your lamplight lies on my place.
You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard
To think of you ever dying.
A little dog would get tired, living so long.
I hope that when you are lying
Under the ground like me your lives will appear
As good and joyful as mine.
No, dears, that's too much hope:
You are not so well cared for as I have been.
And never have known the passionate undivided
Fidelities that I knew.
Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided...
But to me you were true.
You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures
To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,
I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.
(For Haig, an English bulldog.)
posted by PussKillian at 7:14 PM on August 8, 2013 [8 favorites]
At a veterinary hospital I used to work at we had a client who, after his dog's passing, gave us a framed photo of the dog with jquinby's Henry Beston quote inscribed underneath. It was one of the kindest and most meaningful gifts I had ever received from a client, and I loved the quote so much that I had it printed on condolence cards to send to other grieving clients, so that we had some cards with something other than "The Rainbow Bridge" on them. I heard back from a number of clients who were touched by it just as much as I was, and I think if the staff at your vet's office don't already know of it, you should by all means introduce them to it.
posted by Rock Steady at 7:30 PM on August 8, 2013 [1 favorite]
posted by Rock Steady at 7:30 PM on August 8, 2013 [1 favorite]
Short and sweet, from Edith Wharton:
My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet.
posted by workerant at 9:09 AM on August 9, 2013 [2 favorites]
My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet.
posted by workerant at 9:09 AM on August 9, 2013 [2 favorites]
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“We need another and a wiser and perhaps a more mystical concept of animals. Remote from universal nature and living by complicated artifice, man in civilization surveys the creature through the glass of his knowledge and sees thereby a feather magnified and the whole image in distortion. We patronize them for their incompleteness, for their tragic fate for having taken form so far below ourselves. And therein do we err. For the animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older and more complete than ours, they move finished and complete, gifted with the extension of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren, they are not underlings: they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.”
It is from his wonderful book, The Outermost House.
posted by jquinby at 4:48 PM on August 8, 2013 [10 favorites]