by Billy Collins
"I write poems for a stranger who will be born in
some distant country hundreds of years from now."
Mary Oliver
Nobody here likes a wet dog.
No one wants anything to do with a dog
that is wet from being out in the rain
or retrieving a stick from a lake.
Look how she wanders around the crowded pub tonight
going from one person to another
hoping for a pat on the head, a rub behind the ears,
something that could be given with one hand
without even wrinkling the conversation.
But everyone pushes her away,
some with a knee, others with the sole of a boot.
Even the childeren, who don't realize she is wet
until they go to pet her,
push her away
then wipe their hands on their clothes.
And whenever she heads towards me,
I show her my palm, and she turns aside.
O stranger of the future!
O inconceivable being!
Whatever the shape of your house,
however you scoot from place to place,
no matter how stange and colorless the clothes you wear,
I bet everybody in your pub,
even the childen, pushes her away.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
What happened to the dog?
This is the ques a friend of mine asked me via email. For those of you who, like my friend, couldn't get thru on the site to lv a comment -- i've been wondering why i haven't been getting any comments @ ALL!-- i wanted to let you know what happened. I've been so busy w/ job search & trying to set up interviews &, let's face it, a million & one things that crop up during the course of a life, that when i called the ASPCA on tues to find out how the dog was doing, i was just overwhelmed w/ just this-- i don't think guilt-- regret the whole day. The long & short of it is the person i spoke w/ said they did get a call fr the area but never came to pick the dog up.
I went back to the check cashing place yest to find out what happened to the dog since these people never even showed up to get it! The young lady i spoke w/ said that the dog disappeared & that her co-worker then saw the dog in the garbage can in front out on the sidewalk.
To say i'm so overwhelming disappointed in the ASPCA is a complete understatement. I spoke w/ the same person this morning-- a very nice person who expressed his sympathies when i told him the ultimate fate of that puppy-- & @ this point i was trying not to break down crying. He explained that they can't always pick up all the animals that they get a call for in the course of a day. That they're a small org trying to service a wide area. That more often than not they do go & get the animal, & he recounted the # of animals that they did pick up that day.
It's cold comfort tho that this puppy wasn't one of them & so ended up dead. It says something so bad about the brutality of, i know not all but, some people. When i called on tues & was told the dog wasn't picked up, i asked "what happens when you guys don't go get them." He said well the police could have gone & gotten it. Well, i won't go into my views on the awful NYPD-- just about the last people anyone would want to call in an Emergency (which would make them happy, since they really could care less about what happens to the innocent).
But i blame myself too for not staying w/ that dog. I just never thought it would all end like this.
I went back to the check cashing place yest to find out what happened to the dog since these people never even showed up to get it! The young lady i spoke w/ said that the dog disappeared & that her co-worker then saw the dog in the garbage can in front out on the sidewalk.
To say i'm so overwhelming disappointed in the ASPCA is a complete understatement. I spoke w/ the same person this morning-- a very nice person who expressed his sympathies when i told him the ultimate fate of that puppy-- & @ this point i was trying not to break down crying. He explained that they can't always pick up all the animals that they get a call for in the course of a day. That they're a small org trying to service a wide area. That more often than not they do go & get the animal, & he recounted the # of animals that they did pick up that day.
It's cold comfort tho that this puppy wasn't one of them & so ended up dead. It says something so bad about the brutality of, i know not all but, some people. When i called on tues & was told the dog wasn't picked up, i asked "what happens when you guys don't go get them." He said well the police could have gone & gotten it. Well, i won't go into my views on the awful NYPD-- just about the last people anyone would want to call in an Emergency (which would make them happy, since they really could care less about what happens to the innocent).
But i blame myself too for not staying w/ that dog. I just never thought it would all end like this.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
I saw just about the saddest thing today
On my way to one of the train stas in my Bklyn neighborhood, i saw this half-grown, seemed to be, boxer mix still in puppyhood-- she/he (in all the commotion i didn't even think of checking gender) had the fine squared head & bright glossy eyes i've somehow come to assoc w/ boxers-- trying to get inside a check cashing store. This little dog was so covered w/ cuts, bruises & smelled so bad, yet when i bent down to touch her/him was so energetic & friendly. I didn't know what to think as i went into the check cashing place & asked whose dog it was.
All the people waiting for service said it was, obviously, a stray & i said the poor thing needed to go to the animal shelter. My distraction seemed to be what the resourceful little dog was waiting for as he/she slipped in. One of the employees shouted that the ASPCA was on their way, as me & this young guy chased the dog all over the store. It must have taken us about 10 mins to get this dog back outside. It's a little over 20 degrees today, after our big snowfall yesterday, & i didn't blame her/him for wanting to stay inside where it was warm.
I wanted to wait for the ASPCA to come, but i had an appointment in Manhattan that i was going to be, at least, a half an hour late for as it was. I tried to tie her/him up w/ a plastic bag-- so that people coming in & out wouldn't be pushing at the dog's constant attempt to get back in out of the shivering cold-- but, walking away, i looked back & saw that already the poor thing had slipped out of that makeshift leash.
Being more of a cat person, i don't know too much about dogs. But more than ever i wished i wasn't so completely down & out. Already such a sweet dog-- didn't even put up much of a fight when me & the kid caught & carried her/him back out-- w/ care & comfort that dog would make such a wonderful loyal pet.
I'm going to try to find out what happened w/ that dog tomorrow. I come across so many strays on the streets & it makes me so sad. Things are so difficult right now. The no-kill animal shelter i worked for last yr in Queens has closed down-- along w/ another of the org's facilities. But so many orgs had had to restrict their resources or have gone out of business & w/ jobs so scarce i'm sure a lot of families, along w/ their pets, aren't too sure where the next meal is coming fr.
All the people waiting for service said it was, obviously, a stray & i said the poor thing needed to go to the animal shelter. My distraction seemed to be what the resourceful little dog was waiting for as he/she slipped in. One of the employees shouted that the ASPCA was on their way, as me & this young guy chased the dog all over the store. It must have taken us about 10 mins to get this dog back outside. It's a little over 20 degrees today, after our big snowfall yesterday, & i didn't blame her/him for wanting to stay inside where it was warm.
I wanted to wait for the ASPCA to come, but i had an appointment in Manhattan that i was going to be, at least, a half an hour late for as it was. I tried to tie her/him up w/ a plastic bag-- so that people coming in & out wouldn't be pushing at the dog's constant attempt to get back in out of the shivering cold-- but, walking away, i looked back & saw that already the poor thing had slipped out of that makeshift leash.
Being more of a cat person, i don't know too much about dogs. But more than ever i wished i wasn't so completely down & out. Already such a sweet dog-- didn't even put up much of a fight when me & the kid caught & carried her/him back out-- w/ care & comfort that dog would make such a wonderful loyal pet.
I'm going to try to find out what happened w/ that dog tomorrow. I come across so many strays on the streets & it makes me so sad. Things are so difficult right now. The no-kill animal shelter i worked for last yr in Queens has closed down-- along w/ another of the org's facilities. But so many orgs had had to restrict their resources or have gone out of business & w/ jobs so scarce i'm sure a lot of families, along w/ their pets, aren't too sure where the next meal is coming fr.
Friday, February 27, 2009
What on earth is going on
w/ the numbering in Mary Oliver's collection of poems Thirst?! I'm not sure if there's some kind of signif to the misnumbering, or if Beacon Press just messed the thing up (prob not). I'll have to do some research on this. (Yeah right. Let's see if i actually get around to doing it...).
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Finally
rd a Joyce Carol Oates novel-- something i've been meaning to do for such a long time! However, instead of starting with heavy hitters like Black Water or Blonde. What have started me off on my J.C. Oates journey is a, (not good to assume, but i'll do it anyway) i assume, little known Young Adult-- the classification i found it under @ the NYPL-- novel called Sexy.
As my nieces continue to get older at, practically, the speed of light (though close to, and at tween stage now), i've become more & more interested in finding out exactly what kind of hell my sisters will be in for when the teenage yrs hit. This is a new era we're living in. I figure, though things will always be different for each generation, these are interesting times, c'est vrai?
Though Sexy is damn good literature that Oates is writing for the young crowd-- the exploration of the developing male adolescent sexuality (something i'm not too familiar w/ coming fr a family made up of mostly women). The cover drew me in-- a hunched over vulnerable-looking pic of the rawboned protagonist, under such an explosive title!-- but the blurb on the inside jacket was just so misleading. (Misleading blurbs are a problem i come across every so often, so i try to take them in stride. But it gets a bit annoying). I don't know, maybe other people would feel that the story did fulfill its catastrophic account of broken trust. For me it didn't. The novel is so much subtler than that. And i felt that it wasn't so much the adults in his life that the sixteen-year-old Darren Flynn lost trust in-- it's more internal & psychological (not to mention hormonal!) than that.
As my nieces continue to get older at, practically, the speed of light (though close to, and at tween stage now), i've become more & more interested in finding out exactly what kind of hell my sisters will be in for when the teenage yrs hit. This is a new era we're living in. I figure, though things will always be different for each generation, these are interesting times, c'est vrai?
Though Sexy is damn good literature that Oates is writing for the young crowd-- the exploration of the developing male adolescent sexuality (something i'm not too familiar w/ coming fr a family made up of mostly women). The cover drew me in-- a hunched over vulnerable-looking pic of the rawboned protagonist, under such an explosive title!-- but the blurb on the inside jacket was just so misleading. (Misleading blurbs are a problem i come across every so often, so i try to take them in stride. But it gets a bit annoying). I don't know, maybe other people would feel that the story did fulfill its catastrophic account of broken trust. For me it didn't. The novel is so much subtler than that. And i felt that it wasn't so much the adults in his life that the sixteen-year-old Darren Flynn lost trust in-- it's more internal & psychological (not to mention hormonal!) than that.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Hmmmm...
Sometimes you find yourself remembering these little stories that you rd at random in one of those small press lit. journal-- months, even yrs later-- and it triggs such a flood of wonder at how much it had impacted you w/out you really knowing it had packed the powerful punch it did.
It makes you then wonder...what the heck was the name of that writer?... thinking to look him/her up to find out what else they've been up to; if they've been busy racking up the awards & prizes. And that story-- now you come to think of it, was so stunning in it's attn to craft and insight into the infinite complexity of human nature-- did it win its author some of those awards and prizes? A Pushcart maybe? And even though i know you really shouldn't live your life by awards, they're somewhat of a barometer of how much time and effort you're actually putting into this thing you so optimistically call a career choice (something to remember when the malaise of existential despair makes an appearance at the door and settles in for a long visit).
I've noticed that stories about older women stay w/ me the longest-- maybe it's because in a short while i'll be an older woman too. Or maybe these stories that have so impressed me are written by older writers (typically women) who seem to have had quite a bit of time to perfect their art & know their way around a sentence or two. Then it's hard to remember which little journal i actually rd the thing in, since they're so many to wade thru (not to mention which particular issue of the journal it was in). I know i could try googling whatever details i can remember on the off-chance one of these details will snag on an online archive.
But time and, lets face it, motivation isn't big on a lot of people's agenda, so i let nature takes its course: Eventually i find myself rding over issues of journals i'm familiar w/ and Lo! Jackpot. Or rding a new issue of a journal i'll find a mention that a particular story or poem had gone on to some prize and Lo!(again) it was that little unforgettable darling that had so insidiously worked itself into the subconscious-- storing huge chunks of itself in one of those vast memory compartments that had then sprung open out of the blue one day in a quiet moment of completely unrelated reflection.
It makes you then wonder...what the heck was the name of that writer?... thinking to look him/her up to find out what else they've been up to; if they've been busy racking up the awards & prizes. And that story-- now you come to think of it, was so stunning in it's attn to craft and insight into the infinite complexity of human nature-- did it win its author some of those awards and prizes? A Pushcart maybe? And even though i know you really shouldn't live your life by awards, they're somewhat of a barometer of how much time and effort you're actually putting into this thing you so optimistically call a career choice (something to remember when the malaise of existential despair makes an appearance at the door and settles in for a long visit).
I've noticed that stories about older women stay w/ me the longest-- maybe it's because in a short while i'll be an older woman too. Or maybe these stories that have so impressed me are written by older writers (typically women) who seem to have had quite a bit of time to perfect their art & know their way around a sentence or two. Then it's hard to remember which little journal i actually rd the thing in, since they're so many to wade thru (not to mention which particular issue of the journal it was in). I know i could try googling whatever details i can remember on the off-chance one of these details will snag on an online archive.
But time and, lets face it, motivation isn't big on a lot of people's agenda, so i let nature takes its course: Eventually i find myself rding over issues of journals i'm familiar w/ and Lo! Jackpot. Or rding a new issue of a journal i'll find a mention that a particular story or poem had gone on to some prize and Lo!(again) it was that little unforgettable darling that had so insidiously worked itself into the subconscious-- storing huge chunks of itself in one of those vast memory compartments that had then sprung open out of the blue one day in a quiet moment of completely unrelated reflection.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
More Kimi pics...
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