The Leading eBooks Store Online 4,130,202 members ⚫ 1,348,641 ebooks

New to

Learn more


Poems by Writers' Dogs

Unleashed by Amy Hempel
Buy this eBook
US$ 4.99
(If any tax is payable it will be calculated and shown at checkout.)
Now in paperback, an irresistible gift for dog lovers: poems from the dogs' point of view, written by the well known writers and poets who love them.

List of contributors:
Edward Albee,  Jennifer Allen,  Danny Anderson,  Lynda Barry,  Rick Bass,  Charles Baxter,  Robert Benson,  Roy Blount, Jr., Ron Carlson,  Jill Ciment,  Bernard Cooper,  Stephen Dobyns,   Mark Doty,   Stephen Dunn,   Anderson Ferrell,  Amy Gerstler, Matthew Graham,   Ron Hansen,   Brooks Haxton,   Cynthia Heimel,   Amy Hempel,   Noy Hollan,   Andrew Hudgins,   John Irving, Denis Johnson,  R.S. Jones,   Walter Kirn,  Sheila Kohler,   Maxine Kumin,  Natalie Kusz,  Anne Lamott,   Gordon Lish,  Ralph Lombreglia, Merrill Markoe,  Pearson Marx,  Erin McGraw,  Heather McHugh,   Arthur Miller,  George Minot,  Susan Minot,   Honor Moore, Mary Morris,  Alicia Muñoz,  Elise Paschen,  Padgett Powell,  Wyatt Prunty,  Lawrence Raab,  Mark Richard,   John Rybicki, Jeanne Schinto,  Bob Shacochis,  Jim Shepard,   Karen Shepard,  Lee Smith,  Ben Sonnenberg,  Kate Clark Spencer,  Gerald Stern,
Terese Svoboda,  William Tester,  Abigail Thomas,  Lily Tuck,  Sidney Wade,  Kathryn Walker,  William Wegman

From the Trade Paperback edition.
Crown/Archetype; December 2007
176 pages; ISBN 9780307422590
Read online, or download in secure EPUB
Title: Unleashed
Author: Amy Hempel; Jim Shepard
This project began, as so many literary ventures do, on a drunken New Year's fishing trip down in the Florida Keys. Bob Shacochis, Mark Richard, and Bob's dog, Frank, were ringing in the New Year around a campfire when Frank, an Irish Setter, was moved to verse. The poem, according to Bob, was titled "Wind," and follows in its entirety:

Leaves--I thought they were birds.

This was followed, according to Mark, by an ambitious sequel,
Tangled cassette tapes
behind Tower Records,
I thought it was rats--
it was rats!

One thing we were sure of: part of our happiness derived from pleasing them--the dogs we know, and, it occurred to us, the dogs we didn't know.

So we decided to give to a range of animal welfare agencies every last cent we make on this book.

Actually, we're devoting only half. But still--half!

Think of it as our benefit for the boneless.

So we're not Michael Rosen! What have you done for animals lately?

We have done what vocational guidance counselors recom-mend: find a thing you do anyway, and find a way to make it pay. And for us the surprise was no surprise at all--page after page of love poems.

Jim Shepard
Love Song of Audrey

The door, friends, will not
Open. My kidneys urge
The tedious quotidian.
I have measured out my life
With quiet whines.

I grow old-- I growold--
In endless dogs' manure I'll have rolled.

No! I am not Ch. Dandie Dinsmore,
Nor was meant to be;
Just a beta dog, one that will do
To swell a pack, start a fight or two
Advise the alpha, deferential,
Glad to be of use,
A rear-sniffer, meticulous,
Politic, cautious, a bit obtuse.

Shall I drink from the toilet? Do I dare steal from the plate?
I shall sleep upon their bed, on those nights they return late.
I shall steal away his slipper, then steal away its mate.

Stephen Dunn
Buster's Visitation

I'm a dead dog for real now;
no longer can I rise
from my fakery, alert to commands
I'd come to think of as love,
though I never did obey
as well as Sundown did
or as a truly good dog would.
To play the slave, not be one,
was my code. You understood,
who would play the master.
From my grave in the yard I see now
you had no gift for it, or heart.
Bad dog, you'd say,
so little conviction in your voice.
In seconds you'd be patting my head.
Forgiveness made you happy; I'd tip over
the garbage to he forgiven by you.
Let me tell you it's no life
being dead. I'd give anything
to chase the gulls again.
But clarities come when the body goes.
For whatever it's worth
you should know--you who think so much--
only what's been smelled or felt
gets remembered.
And in the dark earth no doors open,
no one ever comes home.

From the Trade Paperback edition.
More Poetry
Subject categories