Isn’t that just amazingly cute? I don’t know the puppy’s name, or who the photograph belongs to—and by publishing it on my blog without permission, I’m probably contravening the Geneva Convention, or something—but I just couldn’t resist. [Please note this very boring disclaimer from my dad (Sigh!): ‘If you own the copyright to this photograph, and object to it being used on Josie’s blog, please post a comment and I’ll remove it. Alternatively, let us know your name, and the puppy’s name, and Josie will give you all due credit.']
Well, if I’m going to go to jail for copyright infringement, whatever that may be, I may as well make it worthwhile. Reading The Times of London this morning—as one does, of course—I came across this review of the latest book of poems from the wonderful Ian McMillan, who never fails to make a puppy laugh.
In this book (I Found This Shirt, published in the UK by Carcanet) one of Ian’s poems is called My Dog and this is how it goes:
April is the Cruellest Month
might seem like a strange name for a dog,
and sometimes I think it is
when I’m shouting her name
on the high moors
in the driving wind.
Well, if I’m going to go to jail for copyright infringement, whatever that may be, I may as well make it worthwhile. Reading The Times of London this morning—as one does, of course—I came across this review of the latest book of poems from the wonderful Ian McMillan, who never fails to make a puppy laugh.
In this book (I Found This Shirt, published in the UK by Carcanet) one of Ian’s poems is called My Dog and this is how it goes:
April is the Cruellest Month
might seem like a strange name for a dog,
and sometimes I think it is
when I’m shouting her name
on the high moors
in the driving wind.
‘April is the Cruellest Month!’
I shout,
‘April is the Cruellest Month!’
and my dog runs up to me,
barking, wagging her tail,
and I feel slightly, ever so slightly
embarrassed.
I shout,
‘April is the Cruellest Month!’
and my dog runs up to me,
barking, wagging her tail,
and I feel slightly, ever so slightly
embarrassed.
But then when people say
as they walk by me
on the high moors
in the driving wind,
‘Can a month bark?’
‘Can April wag its tail?’
I swell with pride
because my dog’s name
is image, and metaphor, and poetry.
as they walk by me
on the high moors
in the driving wind,
‘Can a month bark?’
‘Can April wag its tail?’
I swell with pride
because my dog’s name
is image, and metaphor, and poetry.
So,
'April is the Cruellest Month’
I shout, and
‘April is the Cruellest Month’
and the words roll round in my mouth
like Easter Eggs in a Shopping Basket,
which is the name of my cat.
A cat named Easter Eggs in a Shopping Basket! Don’t you think that’s wonderful? Inspired by Ian, I’m looking for new names for my three cats. Any ideas?
BUY IAN’S BOOK—and, then, maybe he won’t sue me. At this point my dad wants me to add another boring disclaimer, but I’m simply too tired. I think I’ll go to sleep, and dream a poem…
'April is the Cruellest Month’
I shout, and
‘April is the Cruellest Month’
and the words roll round in my mouth
like Easter Eggs in a Shopping Basket,
which is the name of my cat.
A cat named Easter Eggs in a Shopping Basket! Don’t you think that’s wonderful? Inspired by Ian, I’m looking for new names for my three cats. Any ideas?
BUY IAN’S BOOK—and, then, maybe he won’t sue me. At this point my dad wants me to add another boring disclaimer, but I’m simply too tired. I think I’ll go to sleep, and dream a poem…
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