Poetry From Scratch Read online

  Adjusting type size may change line breaks. Landscape mode may help to preserve line breaks.

  TO OLIVIA MEOW

  CONTENTS

  Introduction

  Cat Verse Inspired by Famous Poems

  Free Verse and Beat Poetry

  Odes

  Rhyming Verse, Haikus, and Limericks

  Acknowledgments

  Adjusting type size may change line breaks. Landscape mode may help to preserve line breaks.

  INTRODUCTION

  In central Milan, there is a lovely cat café. A space where a writer can sit and think while drinking a cappuccino out of a mug shaped like a cat. These serene writerly haunts sustain serious writers like myself. (Someone who studies literature and art and is supremely cultured.) It was on this last occasion I happened upon a small door marked “Biblioteca Gatto” I hadn’t noticed on previous visits. Being the naturally curious writer that I am, I turned the small brass knob and peered inside what indeed appeared at first glance to be a small “cat library.” Each volume was a slim one, and being in Italian, it wasn’t quickly obvious what the volumes contained, although my excitement mounted at the possibilities. Each title was bound handsomely in leather, with gold writing on the spine and cover.

  After a conversation with the owner, a kind Milanese woman named Falsa Nome, whose family had run the cat café for generations, it was revealed to me that this astonishing library contained what might be the first of its kind in the world—a repository of literature and poetry written by the cats of the café over the last hundred or so years. She and her ancestors had dutifully transcribed the cats’ writings, and published them privately with a small printer in the same district as the café. It made sense to me. Italy, home to some of the world’s greatest writers and artists, would naturally be home to some very intelligent and literary inclined felines. Not knowing whether the books were of any interest to anyone but themselves, the owners of the cat café had kept the books for their own enjoyment and gradually ceased to realize the great literary importance of such a library.

  I, of course, was immediately intrigued and, after many more conversations and phone calls, was able to secure the rights to translate the books into English for the first time and publish the poems abroad. Here in your hands is the first volume of that effort. A collection of the best (and only) cat poetry in existence, finally in print here for the first time. We hope you enjoy their efforts.

  POETRY FROM SCRATCH

  CAT VERSE INSPIRED BY FAMOUS POEMS

  Classic poems are ones that we’ve enjoyed over the years (or studied once in high school), but, for some reason or another, are mostly lacking in cats. Here are some of your favorite poems, now with 100 percent more cats.

  The Rodent Not Taken

  Two rodents diverged in a yellow wood,

  And sorry I could not pursue both

  And being one feline, long I crouched

  And watched one scurry as far as I could

  To where it veered into the undergrowth;

  Then took the other, as just as fair,

  And having perhaps the better claim,

  Because it was plump and wanted wear;

  Though as for that mouse-grey hair,

  Had rendered them really about the same,

  And both that morning equally played

  In leaves no step had trodden black.

  Oh, I kept the first for another day!

  Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

  I doubted if I should ever come back,

  to snack.

  I shall be telling this with a sigh

  Somewhere ages and ages hence:

  Two rodents diverged in a wood, and I—

  I took the one less fit and spry,

  And that has made all the difference.

  “Dinner” is the thing with feathers—

  “Dinner” is the thing with feathers—

  That perches on the windowsill—

  And sings the tune without the words—

  And never stops—at all—

  Until—

  And sweetest—in the tummy—

  And sore must be Mittens—

  Who couldn’t catch the little Bird

  That kept me full—

  I’ve heard it in the birdfeeder—

  And on the birdbath Sea—

  Yet—never tasted—in its Entirety,

  It left no crumb—on me.

  “A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.”

  —Mark Twain

  Human, This Is Just To Say

  I have eaten

  the herbs

  that were on

  the windowsill

  and which

  you were probably

  saving

  for dinner

  Forgive me

  they were delicious

  so sweet

  and so fresh

  Human, This Is Just To Say

  I have eaten

  the Meow Mix

  that was in

  the silver bowl

  and which

  you were probably

  thinking

  would be my dinner

  I will not apologize

  it was delightful

  so crunchy

  and so dry

  The Red Laser Pointer

  so much depends

  upon

  a red laser

  pointer

  whooshing across

  the carpet

  I will catch it

  this time

  Fuzzymandias

  I met a traveler from the yard next door

  Who said: a vast and heavy leg of stone

  stands in the garden. Topped with a bowl of water

  half sunk, a flurry of sparrows bathe, whose chirps

  and clueless yammerings tell of joy, and fearlessness.

  They display well those passions for a summer bath—

  They yet survived, our claws not stamped on those lifeless things,

  Our paws that mocked them and their hearts that fed;

  And on the pedestal these words appear:

  “Concrete birdbath: Made in China:

  Splash in me, ye mighty, and rejoice!”

  Nothing beside remains, now. Round the decay

  Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare-boned

  The lone and level feathers stretch far away.

  O Captain! My Captain! (A Cat’s Revenge)

  O Captain! my Captain!

  Our fearful trip to the vet is done;

  My body has weather’d every shot,

  the prize you sought is won;

  The house is near, the birds I hear,

  the neighbor’s dog exulting,

  While follow eyes the steady keel,

  this Honda vessel grim and daring:

  But O scritch! scratch! scritch!

  O the bleeding drops of red,

  Where o’er the steering wheel my Captain lies,

  Fallen cold and dead.

  As punishment.

  For taking me to the vet.

  Mice

  I think that I must espouse

  There’s no meal as lovely as a mouse.

  A mouse whose scar’t mouth is prest

  Against my furry, beating breast;

  A mouse that looked for cheese all day,

  And lifts her rodent arms, now, to say;

  Oh cat that may in summer wear

  A nest of robins in your hair;

  Upon whose bosom I’m now smushed;

  Who intimately nibbles on my ears.

  Please.

  Pleas are made by fools like me,

  But only you, cat, can set me fr
ee.

  And so dear mouse, I let you go

  A favor to you, my benevolence, shown

  We live to dance another day

  For now, be sure:

  Stay out of my way

  “Thou art the Great Cat, the avenger of the Gods, and the judge of words, and the president of the sovereign chiefs and the governor of the holy Circle; thou art indeed . . . the Great Cat.”

  —Inscription on the Royal Tombs at Thebes

  Box

  I wandered lonely as a tom

  That stalked on high o’er couch and stair,

  When all at once I saw an Amazon,

  (A box, of golden brown)

  Beside the fireplace, beneath the table,

  Stoic and inviting in the spring air.

  Continuous as milk and sunbeams

  And toy mice that light my way,

  These boxes appear in a constant stream

  Full, then emptied; consumerism for another day

  Along the postman’s journey up our way:

  Ten thousand boxes saw I at a glance,

  Announcing my owner’s debt, in a sprightly dance.

  The favors inside them danced; but they

  Once emptied, out-did the sparkling gifts in glee:

  A cat could not but be gay,

  In such a jocund company:

  I jumped—and settled—but little thought

  What wealth the box to me had brought:

  For oft, when on my couch I lie

  In vacant or in pensive mood,

  It flashes upon that inward eye

  Which is the bliss of solitude;

  And then my mind with pleasure locks,

  And dances with the empty box.

  Do Not Stand at My Bowl and Stare

  Do not stand at my bowl and stare;

  The food’s not there. I did not eat.

  I am a thousand hours starved.

  I wait and watch; the turkey’s carved.

  I ate the droppings on the floor.

  It’s not enough. Please give me more.

  When you awaken in the morning’s hush,

  I am the swift uplifting crush

  Of frantic pawing on your chest,

  I am the soft meow giving you no rest.

  Do not stand at my bowl and tease;

  The food’s not there.

  I must eat—please.

  Do Not Go Gentle into that Carrier for Pets

  Do not go gentle into that carrier for pets,

  All cats should burn and rave at close of cage,

  Rage, rage against all trips to the vet.

  Though wise cats, at their end, know she cares (the vet),

  Because their meows had forked no lightning they

  Do not go gentle into that carrier for pets.

  Good cats, the last wave by, beginning to fret,

  Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

  Rage, rage against all trips to the vet.

  Wild cats who caught and ate the birds they met,

  And learn, too late, they grieve freedom on its way,

  Do not go gentle into that carrier for pets.

  Grave cats, near death, who meow and kvetch

  Sad howls could sing, be light and be gay,

  Rage, rage against all trips to the vet.

  And you, my owner, there on the sad height,

  Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

  Do not go gentle into that carrier for pets.

  Rage, rage against all trips to the vet.

  FREE VERSE AND BEAT POETRY

  These non-rhyming poems are all about cool cats living their best lives. Creating art. Wearing sunglasses. Riding boxcars. Best read out loud standing up with a glass of red wine in your best Lawrence Ferlinghetti voice.

  California Cat

  So cool, hanging out there on Hollywood

  Boulevard

  With the tourists and the hangers on

  By Mann’s Chinese Theatre

  The costumed superman and the

  down-on-his-luck Dora the Explorer

  The cat says “no pictures please”

  That cat is California cool

  Might as well have a skateboard

  Sunglasses

  Tiny cigarette

  But instead

  He lounges

  Sidewalk splayed

  Watching the crowds, taking it all in

  Dreaming of City Lights

  Typing on his tiny keyboard

  Finishing the screenplay

  That’s going to change the world

  88 Lines About 44 Cats

  Mittens was my first true love

  Her white paws were a masterpiece

  Frankie was my landlord’s cat

  He just came with the lease

  Tiger didn’t like the snow

  He stayed inside ‘till end of May

  Smokey loved her sunbeams

  She’d lie in one all day

  Harley was a six-toed cat

  In Florida he’s quite famous

  Riley ate the birthday ribbon

  We had to pull it from his anus

  Rummy was an ancient soul

  He liked to nap upon the bed

  Harry loved adventure though

  He often slept atop the shed

  Happy was a lovely cat

  She liked to purr and watch the birds

  Gary wasn’t potty trained

  He never covered up his turds

  Oscar was a mangy thing

  His best friend was an alley rat

  Rascal licked his red-brown tum

  Sitting like the Buddha sat

  Molly had a quiet nature

  You could find her by the plants

  Zorro loved his laser pointer

  Bust it out and watch him prance

  Flora was a mommy cat

  She raised her litter well

  Borace was a plump old thing

  He looked like a big brass bell

  Clem refused to use the cat door

  Whining ‘till you let her in

  Honey was a rescue cat

  We found her in the garbage bin

  Now Lucy loved to lap-sit

  If you were sitting—she’d be there

  And Boris was a big ragdoll

  He was covered in gorgeous hair

  Olivia was a Calico

  She ate only caviar

  Little Bo was a scaredy cat

  He would throw up in the car

  Meow Meow clawed the carpet

  And the staircase and my bed

  Roxy was a Garcia fan

  She was a dedicated deadhead

  Angora came from Turkey

  She was cultured and refined

  Namaste was from Calexico

  She loved yoga (just the cat pose, mind)

  Neville was a London cat

  His monocle was the clue

  Tex was straight from Dallas

  And had a taste for BBQ

  Luna loved to model nude

  For Friskies and Purina

  Captain was less adventurous

  He just hung about the marina

  Angel met a violent fate

  In a pet cemetery she resides

  Sox was into baseball

  Loved to toss that old cowhide

  Peanut was a gentle soul

  She liked her people quiet

  Toby was a party cat

  He’d be happy in a riot

  Smokey was a socialist

  He really felt the Bern

  Malia was a Hilary fan

  She felt it was a woman’s turn

  Coco was a fashion cat

  She loved her pillbox hats

  While Dexter had a murderous streak

  From birds to bugs to bats

  Muffin had a cooking show

  She loved to bake mouse pie

  While Daisy was a garden cat

  The fresh catnip got her high

  Casper
was a ghost cat

  She died in 1883

  While Ziggy loved her Bowie

  And dreamed of a space odyssey

  MacDonald was from Newfoundland

  He loved to eat cod tongue

  While Sister Feline Puss Puss

  Lived cloistered as a nun

  Concrete Cat

  Ear Ear

  Cat cat cat Cat

  Cat cat cat Cat

  whisker Cat cat cat Cat whisker

  Cat cat Cat

  Cat cat Cat

  Cat cat cat Cat tail

  Cat cat cat cat Cat tail

  Cat cat cat Cat tail

  Cat cat Cat tail tail

  Concrete Pounce

  Ear Ear

  Cat cat cat Cat cat cat

  EYE cat EYE Cat cat cat cat cat tail

  Cat cat cat cat Cat cat cat cat cat cat tail

  Paw Paw Cat cat cat cat cat cat tail tail tail tail

  Mouse

  Cat on the Union Pacific

  My ancestors were mousers

  On the Mayflower.

  My pop’s an Italian-American mouser

  In Boston’s North End.

  And me—

  A drifter. A true tom.

  Left the family business

  Never to return.

  Domestication skipped

  This generation.

  So—

  Put up your posters

  Post the ads

  I’m headed west, dear Owner.

  The 3:04 to Reno

  Leaves tomorrow.

  I’m already gone.

  The kibble, the warmth,

  The quilts, the comfort—

  It’s not enough to keep me.

  I’m headed west, dear owner.

  Riding the rails,

  The pot of mice at the end of the rainbow

  Awaits.

  Mistaken Identity

  (to be read aloud while snapping your fingers and wearing a beret)

  A cat

  Is

  Not just a cat—

  *snap snap snap*

  When

  Is

  A cat not a cat?

  *snap snap*

  Man

  I’m telling you—

  It’s not

  A cat

  *snap*

  When it’s

  Just

  *snap*

  A

  Kitten

  There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.

  —Albert Schweitzer

  ODES