Fun_People Archive
9 Sep
Poetry for Cats by Cats
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From: Peter Langston <psl>
Date: Tue, 9 Sep 97 01:34:23 -0700
To: Fun_People
Subject: Poetry for Cats by Cats
References: <3.0.1.32.19970908142328.006a5880@value.net>
Forwarded-by: Kalia Kliban <kalia@value.net>
Forwarded-by: Jon Berger <jonb@value.net>
Grendel's Dog, from BEOCAT
by the Old English Epic's Unknown Author's Cat
Brave Beocat,
brood-kit of Ecgthmeow,
Hearth-pet of Hrothgar
in whose high halls
He mauled without mercy
many fat mice,
Night did not find napping
nor snack-feasting.
The wary war-cat,
whiskered paw-wielder,
Bearer of the burnished neck-belt,
gold-braided collar band,
Feller of fleas
fatal, too, to ticks,
The work of wonder-smiths,
woven with witches' charms,
Sat on the throne-seat
his ears like sword points
Upraised, sharp-tipped,
listening for peril-sounds,
When he heard from the moor-hill
howls of the hell-hound,
Gruesome hunger-grunts
of Grendel's Great Dane,
Deadly doom-mutt,
dread demon dog.
The boasted Beocat,
noble battle kitten,
Bane of barrow-bunnies,
bold seeker of nest-booty:
"If hand of man unhasped
the heavy hall-door
And freed me to frolic forth
to fight the fang-bearing fiend,
I would lay the whelpling low
with lethal claw-blows;
Fur would fly
and the foe would taste death-food.
But resounding snooze-noise,
stern slumber-thunder,
Nose-music of men snoring
mead-hammered in the wine-hall,
Fills me with sorrow-feeling
for Fate does not see fit
To send some fingered folk
to lift the firm-fastened latch
That I might go grapple
with the grim ghoul-pooch."
Thus spoke the mouse-shredder,
hunter of hall-pests,
Short-haired Hrodent-slayer,
greatest of pussy-Geats.
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The Cat's Tale
by Geoffrey Chaucer's Cat
A Cat there was, a gentil tailless Manx
Our Hoste hadde seen astray on Thames banks
And taken home to ridden him of rats,
At whiche she preved to been the beste of cats.
He longed to bringe on pilgrimage his pette,
But Puss bigan to fussen and to frette
When that she sawgh the leathern hond-luggage
In whiche she was yschlept on viage;
She thinketh that no Canterbury mous
Be worth an expditioun from hir hous,
And so she took hir leave of us apace
And crept into a secret hiding-place,
And when the folk the pavement gan to pounde,
This Pussie-Cat was nowhere to be founde,
And she was leften in the hostelrye
To keepen all the rodentes compaignye;
And that is how this Cat withouten tail
Became as wel a Cat withouten tale.
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Hamlet's Cat's Soliloquy
from HAMLET'S CAT
by William Shakespeare's Cat
To go outside, and there perchance to stay
Or to remain within: that is the question:
Whether 'tis better for a cat to suffer
The cuffs and buffets of inclement weather
That Nature rains on those who roam abroad,
Or take a nap upon a scrap of carpet,
And so by dozing melt the solid hours
That clog the clock's bright gears with sullen time
And stall the dinner bell. To sit, to stare
Outdoors, and by a stare to seem to state
A wish to venture forth without delay,
Then when the portal's opened up, to stand
As if transfixed by doubt. To prowl; to sleep;
To choose not knowing when we may once more
Our readmittance gain: aye, there's the hairball;
For if a paw were shaped to turn a knob,
Or work a lock or slip a window-catch,
And going out and coming in were made
As simple as the breaking of a bowl,
What cat would bear the household's petty plagues,
The cook's well-practiced kicks, the butler's broom,
The infant's careless pokes, the tickled ears,
The trampled tail, and all the daily shocks
That fur is heir to, when, of his own free will,
He might his exodus or entrance make
With a mere mitten? Who would spaniels fear,
Or strays trespassing from a neighbor's yard,
But that the dread of our unheeded cries
And scratches at a barricaded door
No claw can open up, dispels our nerve
And makes us rather bear our humans' faults
Than run away to unguessed miseries?
Thus caution doth make house cats of us all;
And thus the bristling hair of resolution
Is softened up with the pale brush of thought,
And since our choices hinge on weighty things,
We pause upon the threshold of decision.
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Vet, Be Not Proud
by John Donne's Cat
Vet, be not proud, though thou canst make cats die
Thou livest but one life, while we live nine,
And if our lives were half as bleak as thine,
We would not seek from thy cold grasp to fly.
We do not slave our daily bread to buy;
Our eyes are blind to gold and silver's shine;
We owe no debt, we pay no tax or fine;
We tremble not when creditors draw nigh.
The sickest animal that thou dost treat
Is weller than a man; in peace we dwell
And know not guilt or sin, and fear not hell:
Poor vet, we live in heaven at thy feet.
But do not think that any cat will weep
When thee a Higher Vet doth put to sleep.
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To the Kittens,
to Make Much of Time
by Robert Herrick's Cat
Get ye a human while ye may,
When you are still a kitten,
For by a cat too long a stray
Men's hearts are seldom smitten.
The master of yon cozy house
May wed a maid with puppies;
Or set a trap to catch a mouse,
Or buy a bowl of guppies.
Cold rains will soon the summer drown,
And ice will crack the willow;
And though the snow is soft as down,
It makes a chilly pillow.
Then hands that would have stroked your head,
When you came in from prowling,
Will hurl at you a boot instead
To halt your awful howling.
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The Yellow Goldfish
by William Carlos William's Cat
so much depends
upon
a yellow gold
fish
washed down with bowl
water
inside the white
kitten.
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Other contributors to "Poetry for Cats":
John Milton's Cat ("The Prologue" to "Territory Lost")
William Blake's Cat ("Mongrel! Mongrel! Barking blight")
Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Cat ("Kubla Kat")
Edgar Allen Poe's Cat ("The End of the Raven")
Walt Whitman's Cat ("Meow of Myself," from "Leaves of Catnip")
Emily Dickinson's Cat ("There is no Cat-toy like a Mouse")
Joyce Kilmer's Cat ("Treed")
Dylan Thomas's Cat ("Do Not Go Peaceable to That Damn Vet")
Allen Ginsberg's Cat ("Meowl")
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