by Ivan Turgenev (1818-1883)
Us two in the room; my dog and me….Outside a fearful storm is howling.
The dog sits in front of me, and looks me straight in the face.
And I, too, look into his face.
He wants, it seems, to tell me something. He is dumb, he is without words, he does not understand himself – but I understand him.
I understand that at this instant there is living in him and in me the same feeling, that there is no difference between us. We are the same; in each of us there burns and shines the same trembling spark.
Death sweeps down, with a wave of its chill broad wing….
And the end!
Who then can discern what was the spark that glowed in each of us?
No! We are not beast and man that glance at one another….
They are the eyes of equals, those eyes riveted on one another.
And in each of these, in the beast and in the man, the same life huddles up in fear close to the other.
“The Dog” is reprinted from Dream Tales and Prose Poems. Ivan Turgenev. (Trans. Constance Garnett). New York: The Macmillan Company, 1920.
Read more at http://www.poetry-archive.com/t/the_dog.html#SHbcTiuyQ3SrOZU1.99
Talking to Grief
by Denise Levertov
Ah, Grief, I should not treat you
like a homeless dog
who comes to the back door
for a crust, for a meatless bone.
I should trust you.
I should coax you
into the house and give you
your own corner,
a worn mat to lie on,
your own water dish.
You think I don’t know you’ve been living
under my porch.
You long for your real place to be readied
before winter comes. You need
your collar and tag. You need
the right to warn off intruders,
my house your own
and me your person
my own dog.
New Directions Books, p. 43.