"Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face"
"Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.
Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.
Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.
Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.
Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!"
by Jack Prelutsky
A Dug A Dug
by Bill Keys
Hey, Daddy, wid you get us a dug?
A big broon a’satian? Ur a wee white pug?
Ur a skinny wee terrier, ur a big fat bull?
Aw, Daddy, get us a dug. Wull yi?
Whit! An' whose dug'll it be when it durties the flerr?
An' pees’n the carpet an' messes the sterr?
It's me ur yer mammy'll be tane furra mug.
Away oot'n play. Yer no gettin' a dug.
But, Daddy, thur gien them away
Doon therr at the rspca.
Yeu'll get wan fur nothin' so yi wull.
Aw, Daddy, get us a dug. Wull yi?
Doon therr at the rspca!
D’yi think ah’ve goat nothin’ else tae dae
Bit git you a dug thit ah’ll huv tae mind?
Yur no needin’ a dug: yi urny blind.
Aye, but, Daddy, therr rerr fur guardin’ the hoose,
An’ thur better’n cats fur catchin’ a mose,
An’ see wee Danny, ‘is dug kin gie ‘is barra a pull.
Aw, hey, Daddy, get us a dug. Wull yi?
Dji hear um? Oan aboot dugs again?
Ah think that yin's goat dugs oan the brain.
Ah know whit ye'll get: a skite oan the lug
If ah hear any merr aboot this bliddy dug.
Aw, Daddy, it widnae be dear tae keep
An' ah'd make it a basket fur it tae sleep.
An' ah'd take it fur runs away ower the hull.
Aw, Daddy, get us a dug, Wull ye?
Ah doan't think thur's ever been emdy like you:
Yi could wheedle the twist oot a flamin' corkscrew.
Noo! Get doon aff ma neck. Gie's nane o’ yur hug.
Aw right. That's anuff. Ah'll get ye a dug.
Aw, Daddy! A dug! A dug!
English translation http://www.seniorsnetwork.co.uk/poetry/adug.htm
A Barred Owl
The warping night air having brought the boom
Of an owl's voice into her darkened room,
We tell the wakened child that all she heard
Was an odd question from a forest bird,
Asking of us, if rightly listened to,
"Who cooks for you?" and then "Who cooks for you?"
Words, which can make our terrors bravely clear,
Can also thus domesticate a fear,
And send a small child back to sleep at night
Not listening for the sound of stealthy flight
Or dreaming of some small thing in a claw
Borne up to some dark branch and eaten raw."
Richard Wilbur
Dieter Rot: Two Poems Newly Translated
Translation from German by Jerome Rothenberg
FAR
she was greening
she was greening
she was greening so green
& bluing
& bluing
& bluing so blue
& she came
& she came
& she came so far off
& she went
& she went
& she went so far out
SCHEISSE [SH^T] NO. 16
my eye is a mouth
my eyelids are the mouth’s lips
my lashes are the mouth’s teeth
my eyeball is the mouth’s tongue
my cornea is the mouth’s tongue’s tip
my pupil is the mouth’s kiss
my socket is the mouth’s gums
my iris is the mouth’s maw
my brain is the mouth’s gut
my vision is the mouth’s digestion
my life is the mouth’s sh^t
my sh^t is the eye’s life
my digestion is the eye’s vision
my gut is the eye’s brain
my maw is the eye’s iris
my gums are the eye’s socket
my kiss is the eye’s pupil
my tongue’s tip is the eye’s cornea
my tongue is the eye’s ball
my teeth are the eye’s lashes
my lips are the eye’s lids
my mouth is an eye
The Good Son
"If God had come to me and said,
if you are willing to forget your self
you will find the cure for heart attacks and compose
the greatest symphonies,
I wouldn't have been sure of my answer.
Because there wouldn't have been enough
attention to my suffering. And that's unforgivable.
But I keep on forgiving myself
with God's love. And it's strange I should say this
because my mother died of a heart attack
after months in a hospital room full of a silence
that lodged itself like a stone in her throat.
And she thought I was wonderful
and would do anything for her."
Jason Shinder
Bells For John Whiteside's Daughter
"There was such speed in her little body,
And such lightness in her footfall,
It is no wonder her brown study Astonishes us all
Her wars were bruited in our high window.
We looked among orchard trees and beyond
Where she took arms against her shadow,
Or harried unto the pond
The lazy geese, like a snow cloud
Dripping their snow on the green grass,
Tricking and stopping, sleepy and proud,
Who cried in goose, Alas,
For the tireless heart within the little
Lady with rod that made them rise
From their noon apple-dreams and scuttle
Goose-fashion under the skies!
But now go the bells, and we are ready,
In one house we are sternly stopped
To say we are vexed at her brown study,
Lying so primly propped."
John Crowe Ransom
Tattoo
"What once was meant to be a statement—
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart—is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache lingered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on this chilly morning, as he walks
between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled up to show us who he was,
he is only another old man, picking up
broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft and blue with stories."
Ted Kooser