[New-Poetry] Finalists for the Lenore Marshall Prize

[Anthony Lawrence]

That one slipped through an antibiotic net


On 31/08/2006, at 4:05 AM, Anny Ballardini wrote:

> Dogs are sometimes strange creatures, even if I would love to have  
> one...
> See if you want to use the double _into_?
>
>  I willed its tail to rise
> > like a flag, signifying walk or fetch,
> > the hair along its spine to remain
> > combed into into place by sun-
> > light and neglect.
>
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Anthony Lawrence" <ajlawrence1 at bigpond.com>
> To: "NewPoetry: Contemporary Poetry News &amp;Views" <new- 
> poetry at wiz.cath.vt.edu>
> Sent: Wednesday, August 30, 2006 9:46 AM
> Subject: Re: [New-Poetry] Finalists for the Lenore Marshall Prize
>
> > Thought I'd post a new poem to the list:
> >
> > Communication
> >
> > The way a dog can look at you
> > from somewhere beyond its face
> > might be a projection of my own
> > inability to understand that
> > for some, eye contact can be un-
> > settling to the point of panic attacks
> > or catatonic episodes turning
> > their engines over inside the blood.
> > I once looked at a dog in a way
> > I knew to be confrontational.
> > I looked, then averted my eyes.
> > On turning back, my gaze
> > had been met with an intensity
> > so pure it seemed devotional.
> > I found a sign on the wall
> > of the wrecking yard I'd entered
> > on a walk at the end of a bleak,
> > reclusive time. I studied the sign
> > overlong, and it did no good -
> > the dog came to me where I was
> > kneeling in metal shavings,
> > rust and windshield glass.
> > Its breeding fell somewhere
> > between a malnourished Wolf
> > Hound from Ireland and a bear,
> > and it offered me the mauve
> > striations of its gums, exposed
> > in the way a grin can become
> > a grimace, then transmogrify
> > into a snarl. Its breath contained
> > the breaking-down of a meal
> > of carrion, and I said "Good boy"
> > or "Come on, what's your name?"
> > and I looked for a way to save face.
> > The dog sighed, then made a sound
> > I took to be a decision that
> > clearly, I was not its equal
> > and nowhere near worth the trouble.
> > Having misread the language
> > of the body and its intentions,
> > I stood and made ready to leave.
> > I wanted the dog to look elsewhere
> > from beyond its black-and-tan
> > snouted face. I willed its tail to rise
> > like a flag, signifying walk or fetch,
> > the hair along its spine to remain
> > combed into into place by sun-
> > light and neglect. But the hand
> > I'd begun to extend as a token
> > of a stand-off come to an end
> > was taken and taken, and I'd like
> > to say I have a vague memory
> > of shouting "There's no reason..."
> > but I screamed until, hearing
> > the throat music of submission
> > and alarm, it released me, turned
> > and ran. I lifted my hand in no wave
> > of farewell, and saw the marks
> > of teeth in my skin, and a break
> > in the knuckle where bone
> > was coming through. The dog,
> > meanwhile, had found something else
> > to torment or maim, among car
> > body parts and overturned tins.
> > I left it at that and made for the road,
> > and did not look back to see
> > if my blood were painting the dust.
> > I stared straight ahead like a man
> > for whom contact with the eyes
> > of dogs and humans, when made
> > and mirrored with bleak intention,
> > had returned him to a place
> > where communication leads to nothing
> > but remorse and grief and harm.
> >
> >
> >
> > http://wiz.cath.vt.edu/mailman/listinfo/new-poetry
> >
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