Cats, Dogs, and Children in Poet's Corner : Ken Gibbs

Anyone wishing to become to become a successful poet would do well to begin with cats, dogs and children as the subject for they provide a rich mine of material. One only has to think of Edward Lear (The Owl and the Pussy Cat), Spike Milligan (Lucy Pugh was only two), and Ogden Nash (A wet dog is the lovingest) to appreciate how such wordsmiths could compose something that was both poetic and memorable. Did I fancy my chances because I live where the Poet Laureate John Betjeman was buried, in a graveyard past which I walk almost every week ?

The time was 1990, the place was Lisbon where I was undergoing a crash course in Portuguese for my next posting. I had been provided one-on-one tuition by two women who were both excellent tutors, and who were able to guide me in the idiosyncrasies of the language. They both were anxious that I get to appreciate Portuguese culture amongst which Portuguese ‘Fado’ is included. For those unfamiliar with ‘Fado’ and not inclined to ‘Google’ it, I believe it is best summarised thus:

In popular belief, fado is a form of music characterized by mournful tunes and lyrics, often about the sea or the life of the poor, and infused with a sentiment of resignation, fate and melancholy.

This genre sounds remarkably like working for UNICEF as an ordinary staff member, at the time.

I asked my tutors whether ‘Fado’ follows any specific format related to scanning, meter, and rhyming ? I can’t recall what their response was exactly but it appeared that whatever format it followed, it had to be sad. I was even taken to a performance of ‘Fado’ in a pub and when asked for my opinion next day, I intimated that I would probably opt to go to the pub for the ‘Sagres’ beer rather than the ‘Fado’. I was immediately asked what sort of poetry would I prefer ? I said that I would think about it and get back to them. Two days later, this is what I gave them:

The dog it barked, it barked all night

And kept us all awake

We tossed and turned and moaned and groaned

It angry us did make.

We swore aloud we’d cut its throat

Or dope it out of sight

Or throw some boots and tins and such

To quieten down the night.

But all we did to still the noise

Was turn our heads around

And cover them with pillows soft

To deaden out the sound.

Accordingly, the foll’ing day

The chemist did we see

To ask him for a pill or two

To justify his fee.

He gave us lots and told us then

How we could get it right

“You give the dog just one of these

In his food at night.”

We went on home relieved at last

That we would sleep so well

We crushed three pills and mixed them in

And called him with a yell.

“There !  Eat your food, eat it all

and leave not one small bit;

You’ll sleep all night, but that’s alright

We couldn’t give a whit !”

I digress a bit to tell you all 

About our medicine chest,

How all the drugs are kept up there

Because we think it best.

The doggie’s pills were put up there 

Along with all the rest,

But somehow when we took them down

-- This is no idle jest ! –

We mixed them up with Mary’s pills

By some unhappy slip

And gave the dog an overdose

----- I must have lost my grip !

That night was fun, indeed it was,

I shall ne’er forget

How Mary slept the whole night through

But what about our pet ?

He didn’t bark at all that night

But sought his canine pals

To play some games of “this-and-that”

Amongst the boys and gals.

The problem was --- the poor old dog

Was confused as hell

He really didn’t know himself

---- Was he beau or belle ?