Good ole Buck was a big bear
of a dog, an all-black shepherd
with a small white tie on his chest.
One early autumn evening
we sat on the side porch
of my brother’s house, looking out
on the clearing between the oaks.
I think he was listening to the last
of the crickets, smelling the dusky
earthiness of fiery first fallen leaves,
as he gazed with pointed ears
toward something I couldn’t quite see.
His gentle orange eyes reflected
the crescent moon with an awareness
for which he had no description. Me?
I saw bare dogwood branches as arms
cradling that moon; saw the Dipper
scooping Jupiter from the sky.
And I thought, “God, if I’m really created
in your image, then what about Buck?
Whose image was he created in?
How is it that a simple dog
can seem so finely attuned to something
that I have half-hearted faith in?”
You may think I’m foolish; or confused,
yet I’m certain of that night
on the porch; thought of it often
since we buried ole Buck by the brambles
in my brother’s back yard
nearly 40 years ago.
In What We Trust (original)
Good ole Buck was a bear
of a dog, an all black shepherd
with a small white tie on his chest.
On an early autumn evening
we sat on the side porch
of my brother’s house, looking out
on the clearing between the woods.
I think he was listening to the last
of the crickets, smelling the dusky
richness of the first fallen leaves,
as he gazed with pointed ears toward
something I couldn’t quite see.
His gentle orange eyes reflected
the crescent moon, and he smiled
(I’m sure of it) while seeming to ask,
“did you smell that? Hear that?”
I did not- but I could feel it.
In this anthropocentric world
that we pass through, I find it
interesting that we ascribe human qualities
to just about anything- hands in branches,
faces in clouds, Jesus in pancakes.
My God. Are we really created
in Your image, or You, in our imaginations?
But we are not what this is about.
It's about an animal; one particular animal:
whose image was he created in?
Just a simple dog, so obviously attuned
to something I half-heartedly have faith in.
I know you think I’m foolish;
blasphemous even, or maybe just
confused. Yet I’m certain of that night
on the porch, and I remember it often
since we buried him by the brambles
in my brother's yard, nearly 40 years ago.
(09-29-2021, 06:19 AM)Mark A Becker Wrote: In What We Trust
Good ole Buck was a bear I like "bear of a dog"
of a dog, an all black shepherd all black or mostly black?
with a small white tie on his chest. Overall, a nice opening
On an early autumn evening
we sat on the side porch
of my brother’s house, looking out
on the clearing between the woods.
I think he was listening to the last Maybe "Buck" in stead of "he" for clarity. (more on this later)
of the crickets, smelling the dusky
richness of the first fallen leaves,
as he gazed with pointed ears toward
something (I) couldn’t quite see. we?
His gentle orange eyes reflected like "gentle orange eyes"
the crescent moon, and he smiled
(I’m sure of it) while seeming to ask,
“did you smell that? Hear that?”
I did not- but I could feel it.
(In this anthropocentric world
that we pass through, I find it
interesting that we ascribe human qualities
to just about anything)- hands in branches, not a huge fan of the section in brackets- a little authorial intrusion - is there another way you could say this? or show it?
faces in clouds, Jesus in pancakes.
My God. Are we really created
in Your image, or You, in our imaginations?
But we are not what this is about. the rest of the strophe I like
It's about Buck: an animal; one particular animal: I feel pretty strongly about this and I rarely say that in a crit
whose image was he created in?
Just a simple dog, so obviously attuned
to something I half-heartedly have faith in.
I know you think I’m foolish;
blasphemous even, or maybe just
confused. Yet I’m certain of that night
on the porch, and I remember it often
since we buried him by the brambles
in my brother's yard, nearly 40 years ago.
Enjoyed this Mark. If anyone else had posted this I'd be accusing them of plagiarizing Mark Becker. It's distinctly your voice and I like that about it. The bracketed section reads as though it's utility and stands out for me. My other nit was the slight overuse of "he" where, IMO, at least one repetition of "Buck" or "ole Buck" would better serve the poems charm... and Buck.
(09-29-2021, 06:19 AM)Mark A Becker Wrote: In What We Trust
Good ole Buck was a bear
of a dog, an all black shepherd
with a small white tie on his chest.
On an early autumn evening
we sat on the side porch
of my brother’s house, looking out
on the clearing between the woods.
I think he was listening to the last
of the crickets, smelling the dusky
richness of the first fallen leaves,
as he gazed with pointed ears toward
something I couldn’t quite see. His gentle orange eyes reflected I'm with you until these lines, where it almost takes on a fairy tale quality the crescent moon, and he smiled (I’m sure of it) while seeming to ask, “did you smell that? Hear that?” I did not- but I could feel it.
In this anthropocentric world Then we jump to this very different tone, though I think it's a great stanza except for last line.
that we pass through, I find it
interesting that we ascribe human qualities
to just about anything- hands in branches,
faces in clouds, Jesus in pancakes.
My God. Are we really created
in Your image, or You, in our imaginations? But we are not what this is about.This feels dismissive toward the reader. That's a pretty big question you just laid on us.
It's about an animal; one particular animal:
whose image was he created in?
Just a simple dog, so obviously attuned
to something I half-heartedly have faith in. I almost want this to be the last line....
I know you think I’m foolish;
blasphemous even, or maybe just
confused. Yet I’m certain of that night on the porch, and I remember it often since we buried him by the brambles in my brother's yard, nearly 40 years ago. .......but I wouldn't want to lose this.
Hi Mark,
Very affecting poem. Hope my notes make some sense.
09-29-2021, 03:16 PM (This post was last modified: 09-29-2021, 04:00 PM by RiverNotch.)
The best lines are the first three lines. The contrasts between "bear" and "dog", "bear" and "shepherd", "black" and "white" -- its sharp, the choice of images appropriately Biblical. After that, it needs some distillation -- "clearing" without the unnecessary "between the woods", autumn as confirmation rather than introduction, and so on.
Good ole Buck was a bear of a dog, an all black shepherd with a small white tie on his chest. We sat on the porch of my brother's house, one night, and he gazed with pointed ears at something I couldn't quite see, something in the clearing, with the last of the crickets and the dusky richness of the first fallen leaves. It was autumn. His gentle eyes reflected the crescent moon.
The lines disposed of in the above attempt at revision: Buck was listening to the crickets, he was smelling the leaves, and this poem reflects as much on the scene as it does on him, so unless the speaker is deaf and had no sense of smell, then surely they would have heard and smelled what Buck heard and smelled too, right? And what Buck was really asking about was what the speaker couldn't see, but what Buck supposedly could? At any rate, those lines I feel were kinda unnecessary -- aside from repeating what's already been stated, that Buck seems to perceive things out of the speaker's perception, the image of the moon (and even the smile and Buck's questions) is a transition to the second half to be confident in.
And it does seem to be a matter of confidence that makes the second half quite prosaic. I gravitate towards Tiger's idea that the lines he bracketed are a form of, er, "authorial intrusion", whose idea is already very strongly implied by the next set of lines.
Hands in branches, faces in clouds, Jesus in toast -- my God, are we really made in your image, or you, in our imagination? But we are not what this is about.
Two asides, one light-hearted, one less so. Wasn't it a piece of toast that was famous? Also, I don't quite understand what the phrases "or you, in our imagination" means in that line, but I figure it's important: may you explain it to me?
And after that, it's still kinda prosaic, but with enough drama to really tie things together.
It's about an animal, just a simple dog, yet so attuned to something I'm not sure I believe in. Perhaps you think I'm foolish, I'm disrespectful, I'm confused, but I'm certain of that night on the porch of my brother's house, the porch across the brambles where we buried good ole Buck nearly forty years ago.
Lovely work, but on my first few readings I didn't like it, as the second half being so prosaic really did distract from its quality. "anthropocentric" really took me out of it. xD I guess now there's the matter of content, which I feel compelled to respond to.
Image and Likeness are different things, in this sense -- Image is rationality and freedom, while Likeness is assimilation to God through virtue, according to St. John of Damascus. Evidently Image, whose Greek word is Icon, is fundamental to the faith, as it seems to imply that we are the point of contact between God and creation. God spoke to a man in Sinai, and God is a man through Jesus Christ.
It might have been intended by God, but it could also be seen as highlighting our responsibility over ourselves. That we are made in God's Image might just means that how we see ourselves is different from how we see everything else, in a way that makes us have to own up to everything we do, if not as individuals then as a collective. Which, I think, doesn't make it narcissistic in the way the word "anthropocentric" implies: after all, even in orthodox Christianity humans are still creatures, just like animals (and plants, and minerals, and stars -- basically all matter) are, and even the most animist beliefs have this sort-of baked-in distinction between humans and everything else.
In other words, being in God's Image might just testify to one of the differences between humans and animals, which is not so much that we have souls or that we are fundamentally better than them, but that we perceive ourselves and God in a way that's distinct from everything else, in a way that implies responsibility. Apparently the Church says nothing about animals having souls, so it could very well be that they are as immortal us when it comes to the world to come, but what it does say (or at least imply) is that, if this immortality is real, then it's dependent on the redemption and sanctification given us by Jesus Christ, just as sin and sickness and death was brought here by Adam and Eve. That is to say, for things to get better for the animals (and plants, and minerals -- basically for all creation), things have to get better for us, or rather we ourselves have to get better.
Which I think is a kind of unhelpful-in-its-obviousness default for all of our relationships. "Can't give love without loving yourself", "Can't save someone without saving yourself", and so on and so forth, and of course "loving yourself" and "saving yourself" is kinda spiritual, meaning it doesn't preclude and in fact it often encourages self-sacrifice, but it's not arrogant. Of course, it's kinda sad when a pastor crushes a child even more when, after the death of their pet, the pastor bluntly states that the pet, unlike the child, has no soul, and it's absolutely infuriating when people use our being created in the Image of God as an excuse for needlessly slaughtering animals or destroying the environment, but alas, that's the way we sinners go.
I very much appreciate all of the constructive points.
Paul: (In this anthropocentric world
that we pass through, I find it
interesting that we ascribe human qualities
to just about anything)- hands in branches, not a huge fan of the section in brackets- a little authorial intrusion - is there another way you could say this? or show it?
I love the phrase "authorial intrusion", and I admit to having had a hard time making this turn. And it is absolutely correct that I must find a way to show it, instead of telling it. Thanks for that. I also agree that using "Buck" instead of "him" is accurate.
Tim: In this anthropocentric world Then we jump to this very different tone
It's an intentional jump, yet awkward. I am noodling through how to SHOW this transition, instead of making a broad statement.
But we are not what this is about. This feels dismissive toward the reader. That's a pretty big question you just laid on us.
OK then, observation noted and accepted; it ain't really fair to bring the collective "we" into this.
Notch:
I really like your suggested edit, as I am always looking for ways to sharpen (subtract words.) That said, some extra (sparse, effective) images are called for to increase the showing while decreasing the telling. I certainly appreciate your effort!
...unless the speaker is deaf and had no sense of smell, then surely they would have heard and smelled what Buck heard and smelled too, right?
HA! This is a very good point. I will work to correct that.
Also, I don't quite understand what the phrases "or you, in our imagination" means in that line, but I figure it's important: may you explain it to me?
C'mon Notch, you know it's against the rules to explain. That said, I'll leave the plural "our" out of it, and admit that it's "in my imagination."
Once again, THANKS to each of you for the comments. I shall take them to heart, and hopefuly not ruin this piece in revision. Reminding myself: craft sharper images, work on descriptive language.... more "show" less "tell"... find words to appeal to the senses...
Mark
(09-29-2021, 06:19 AM)Mark A Becker Wrote: In What We Trust
Good ole Buck was a big bear
of a dog, an all-black shepherd
with a small white tie on his chest.
One early autumn evening
we sat on the side porch
of my brother’s house, looking out
on the clearing between the oaks.
I think he was listening to the last
of the crickets, smelling the dusky
earthiness of fiery first fallen leaves,
as he gazed with pointed ears
toward something I couldn’t quite see.
His gentle orange eyes reflected
the crescent moon with an awareness
for which he had no description. Me?
I saw bare dogwood branches as arms
cradling that moon; saw the Dipper
scooping Jupiter from the sky.
And I thought, “God, if I’m really created
in your image, then what about Buck?
Whose image was he created in?
How is it that a simple dog
can seem so finely attuned to something
that I have half-hearted faith in?”
You may think I’m foolish; or confused,
yet I’m certain of that night
on the porch; thought of it often
since we buried ole Buck by the brambles
in my brother’s back yard
nearly 40 years ago.
In What We Trust
Good ole Buck was a bear
of a dog, an all black shepherd
with a small white tie on his chest.
On an early autumn evening
we sat on the side porch
of my brother’s house, looking out
on the clearing between the woods.
I think he was listening to the last
of the crickets, smelling the dusky
richness of the first fallen leaves,
as he gazed with pointed ears toward
something I couldn’t quite see.
His gentle orange eyes reflected
the crescent moon, and he smiled
(I’m sure of it) while seeming to ask,
“did you smell that? Hear that?”
I did not- but I could feel it.
In this anthropocentric world
that we pass through, I find it
interesting that we ascribe human qualities
to just about anything- hands in branches,
faces in clouds, Jesus in pancakes.
My God. Are we really created
in Your image, or You, in our imaginations?
But we are not what this is about.
It's about an animal; one particular animal:
whose image was he created in?
Just a simple dog, so obviously attuned
to something I half-heartedly have faith in.
I know you think I’m foolish;
blasphemous even, or maybe just
confused. Yet I’m certain of that night
on the porch, and I remember it often
since we buried him by the brambles
in my brother's yard, nearly 40 years ago.
Bloody love it.
I think the edit is tighter, more compact, with more beautiful imagery - the bare branches cradling the moon and the Dipper scooping Jupiter from the sky (as an aside, since all the planets are in the same plane, would that be a possibility though? Wouldn’t the planets also, like the sun, only move through the zodiac? Worth checking)
What I miss, however, from the original is a beautiful (apologies for using that word again) observation that we tend to anthropomorphise everything - the Jesus in pancakes was slightly funny, and gave a nice bit of semi comic relief in an otherwise serious poem.
The whole notion of having a dialogue with god is the supreme irony there!
Just saw the previous crits. Looks like there are differing views on whether the anthropomorphisation portion was good or bad. I mostly miss the Jesus in pancakes, but I think it’s also because I read the revision first and the original afterwards, and felt that a tiny bit of the spiritual impulse in the latter was missing in the much more polished edit
Quote: ...the Dipper scooping Jupiter from the sky (as an aside, since all the planets are in the same plane, would that be a possibility though? Wouldn’t the planets also, like the sun, only move through the zodiac? Worth checking)
Thanks busker, and very astute observation about "the Dipper scooping Jupiter". I did check it out and, in fact, the Little Dipper is visible in the northern sky, while Jupiter is in the southern. Though I like the way "Dipper scooping Jupiter" sounds, and could argue for poetic license, I will need to stay accurate, and will make a correction; a REV.2, dang it. GOOD CATCH!
One minor quibble about this line in stanza 4, "can seem so finely attuned to something". Why "seem"? I'm in no doubt that dog sees more of God than we do.
(09-30-2021, 11:50 AM)TranquillityBase Wrote: Great work Mark.
One minor quibble about this line in stanza 4, "can seem so finely attuned to something". Why "seem"? I'm in no doubt that dog sees more of God than we do.
Tim
Thanks Tim,
Since I really don't know what dogs sense, it's pretty anthropomorphic of me to ascribe human qualties to an animal, and that's why I used "can seem". That said, I, too, am certain that dog sense is far keener than human sense (in more ways than one.)
I did make a very slight change from "can seem" to "seems", to emphasize the smoothness of the "S" sounds: "...how is it that a simple dog seems so finely attuned to something".
I also thought that arranging this one in six line stanzas (sestets) presented a more cohesive whole; better symmetry. I also toned down the (anthropocentric) telling, and tried to show that human tendency in a more subtle way.
All of the constructive critiques offered have been invaluable to revising this one... wOOf !
