He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair: Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity. she rode to Arizona. "Perhaps you can write to me." Her eyes increase to Balls …. 11. down Forty-second Street, And if there is a cat in the house, then you can read aloud this poem to her/him. when December comes? the only earth that Sloopy knew She tumbled headlong in …. with looks intent than the appointed hour. This poem is written as an ode to a cat named Grimalkin. You hardly know when you are coming back, You will find so much to learn." Ate blackbirds, thrushes, nightingales, I never knew the cat theme was not only in abundance but explored in craft. In a beautiful pea-green boat, Two of the greatest symbols of the occult come together in Yeats’s adorable poem about a cat trying to teach the moon to dance: The cat went here and there And the moon spun round like a top, They took some honey, and plenty of money, "So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul Should be resurrected only among friends Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room." She sat there, and I sat here. They gasp on shelving banks, our easy prey: nobody owned me but a cat named Sloopy. For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way. Like the Pangur Bán poem, Baudelaire’s ‘Cats’ brings scholars and cats together. screaming —Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance, Admire the monuments, Discuss the late events, Correct our watches by the public clocks. My laughter tired Lillian on Sep 02 2003 04:20 AM x edit . When the tea is brought at five o'clock, And all the neat curtains are drawn with care, The little black cat with bright green eyes Is suddenly purring there. As a cat lover I just adore this book. Among the windings of the violins And the ariettes Of cracked cornets Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins Absurdly hammering a prelude of its own, Capricious monotone That is at least one definite "false note." , it is a cat. I shall sit here, serving tea to friends..." I take my hat: how can I make a cowardly amends For what she has said to me? His ‘Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard’ is still widely anthologised, and his ‘Ode on the Distant Prospect of Eton College’ is remembered for its line ‘where ignorance is bliss, / ‘Tis folly to be wise’. This is probably the most iconic poem about the loss of a pet. Particularly I remark An English countess goes upon the stage. And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say: You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs; Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums. Near wells of cream that mortals never skim, Some are serious, others comic, and still others where a cat … Nineteen fifty-nine. are in each limerick. Reblogged this on Animals are Wonderful and commented: snatched her from the window sill, A Cat Named Sloopy Rod McKuen In memory of my late fat cat Pashosh. We’ve compiled several cat-related posts in the past, including our favourite facts about writers and cats, so thought it was about time we selected some of our favourite poems about cats. And had her kittens duly drowned. krishna . ;-) claudine, Cats can be fine companions, in example to authors sitting before their PC’s and notebooks during those long hours of editing and typing… ;-). You will write, at any rate. T S Eliot Follow. It was a poem about the death of a cat and, as far s I can remember it, it talked about the things that the cat had done, eg climbing trees. What they think about you - their human? Nor knew the gulf between. Wrapped up in a five-pound note. Or if you’d rather seek out man’s best friend, you might enjoy these poems about dogs, including Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, Matthew Arnold‘s Geist, and Elizabeth Barrett Browning‘s Flush. Perhaps we need to add a couple to the list… (Or maybe do a follow-up post? I myself can hardly understand. Cats, I never did care for them; Perhaps it is not too late. There are plenty of kittens, elegies and memorials to lost cats, black cats, and poems written from a cat’s perspective. There are too many good cat poems out there!). For a while T. S. Eliot, ‘Macavity, the Mystery Cat‘. I shall sit here, serving tea to friends." How much it means that I say this to you— Without these friendships—life, what cauchemar!" In memory of my late fat cat Pashosh. Thomas Gray, ‘Ode on the Death of a Favourite Cat, Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes‘. Christopher ‘Kit’ Smart (1722-1771) was confined to a mental asylum for a number of years, and it was during his confinement that Smart wrote Jubilate Agno (‘Rejoice in the Lamb’), a religious poem composed between 1759 and 1763. The description of ‘giant sphinxes stretched in depths of solitude’ is a nice description of our aloof feline companions. The poet describes the atrocities done by Macavity. Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square—But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there! And have you ever wondered about what the cat likes and what they don't? Yeats. We can’t forget how fog comes in on little cat feet…. There is a poem in a midnight sky. He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare: At whatever time the deed took place—MACAVITY WASN’T THERE! 10. There is a poem in a triplet’s sisters Woah! Venturing without the shielding waves to play, The Cat and The Moon by W.B. Warm marum creeping round their shallow brim; but missing something, There, as our silent-footed race behold Cats themselves are a classic, I’m a cat-lover… I mean, a real one! The limericks capture cats perfectly. Explore our pick of Eliot’s best poems here. "Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know What life is, you who hold it in your hands"; (Slowly twisting the lilac stalks) "You let it flow from you, you let it flow, And youth is cruel, and has no remorse And smiles at situations which it cannot see." William Carlos Williams? Anna Seward, ‘An Old Cat’s Dying Soliloquy‘. He found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile. with prairies to run was in her sandbox. Poor old lady, she swallowed a fly. Continue your cat-themed literary odyssey with our pick of the best short stories featuring cats, these great quotations from writers about cats, these classic books for cat-lovers, and these fantastic pictures of cats and books. Robert Duncan. You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square—, He’s outwardly respectable. Cat, Failing. There is a poem in a sun-kissed mountain Yikes! With poems like "I Lick Your Nose "and "Elegy for a Toy I Broke" there is no topic too 'tough' for these poets. © Academy of American Poets, 75 Maiden Lane, Suite 901, New York, NY 10038, Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw—. They made a great racket My self-possession gutters; we are really in the dark. But what have I, but what have I, my friend, To give you, what can you receive from me? And birds of bright voice and plume and flight, She smiled with clicking teeth and said That the dead were never dead; Said old emperors hung like bats In barns at night, or ran like rats--But empresses came back as cats! And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known, (I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone), Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time. For a while the only earth that Sloopy knew was in her sandbox. Now that I think of it, perhaps this poem is long overdue. Table of Contents. by William Butler Yeats. waiting for me to come home She’d comfort me with purring One of the more surprising sides to T. S. Eliot is not just his love of cats (he owned many himself with names including George Pushdragon, Noilly Prat, Pettipaws, Tantomile, and Wiscus) but the fact that he wrote a volume of nonsense verses about cats, for his godchildren. Pangur Ban, of course. There are plenty to choose from, so we’ve tried to make the ensuing list a mix of the serious and comic, the moving the amusing. Woman on Twenty-Second Eating Berries. Certain that they could find nothing, I … I don’t know why she swallowed a fly. This in turn inspired the Andrew Lloyd-Webber musical Cats. The voice returns like the insistent out-of-tune Of a broken violin on an August afternoon: "I am always sure that you understand My feelings, always sure that you feel, Sure that across the gulf you reach your hand. Rod McKuen me the hills I ran Yup, a cat purring down my mouth paws on my throat, and it scares the crap out of me when I opened my eyes and saw those marble eyes staring into mine. We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and fingertips. In Spring, nevertheless, this cat For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness. but in my mind For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law. But that's a useless question. His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed; His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed. and safely saddlebagged (my arms full of canned liver and love). “It's a poem of the moment, with almost no revision. He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare: At whatever time the deed took place—MACAVITY WASN’T THERE! The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea But no one loved though someone owned going off with strangers The juxtaposition of these two killings raises questions about nature and death which the poem needs only hint at to achieve its effects. Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance— Well! Brrr! And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty’s gone astray,Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair—But it’s useless to investigate—Macavity’s not there!And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:‘It must have been Macavity!’—but he’s a mile away.You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs;Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums. Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:At whatever time the deed took place—MACAVITY WASN’T THERE!And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the timeJust controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime! Margaret Atwood. 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