The Cortland Review

Dorianne Laux
"Dog Poets" by Dorianne Laux.

Dorianne Laux
Five poems by Dorianne Laux.

This marks an author's first online publication Carl Adamshick
This marks an author's first online publication William Archila
Wes Benson
Roy Bentley
Michelle Bitting
Kim Bridgford
Stacey Lynn Brown
Grant Clauser
Michael Dickman
This marks an author's first online publication Matthew Dickman
This marks an author's first online publication Geri Digiorno
Cheryl Dumesnil
Molly Fisk
Jeannine Hall Gailey
Kate Lynn Hibbard
Major Jackson
Greg Kosmicki
Keetje Kuipers
Michael McGriff
This marks an author's first online publication Philip Memmer
This marks an author's first online publication Jude Nutter
John Repp
R. T. Smith
This marks an author's first online publication Brian Turner
Book Review
"Sister" by Nickole Brown—Book Review, by John Hoppenthaler.

Book Review
"Superman: The Chapbook" by Dorianne Laux—Book Review, by David Rigsbee.

Dorianne Laux

Dorianne Laux was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. Her fourth book of poems, Facts about the Moon (W.W. Norton, 2007), is the recipient of the Oregon Book Award and was short-listed for the Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize. Laux is also author of Awake (Eastern Washington, 2007, rpt.), What We Carry (BOA, 1994), Smoke (BOA, 2000), and Superman: The Chapbook (Red Dragonfly Press, 2008).
Dorianne Laux – "Dog Poets"


Dog Poets

There are love dogs
no one knows the names of,
give your life to be one of them!


We're a scruffy pack, brothers and sisters howling to one another across mountains, rivers, deserts, forests and canyons, ice floes and corn fields. We are a land of immigrants and so our poetry is as diverse as there are cultures within our culture. What do we have in common? We share a love of our language, American English, and our language is as mongrel as we are, with wild eyes and strong hind legs it will eat anything and make it a feast. We feed it our lives, our insomniac musings and querulous questions. We sing in the music of our language, with barks and yips, low growls and whimpers. We are antic and romantic, we will fetch the ball until we collapse, we believe our muse will always come back. We bite, we beg, we brandish our teeth, we lie down near the fire and dream. We are Whitman's leaves of grass, and Dickenson's formal feeling come. We are Ginsberg's beard and O'Hara's top hat. We are Sexton's pale legs and lit cigarette. We are Plath's gold bees and hospital tulips. We are Langston Hughes's weary blues and Bukowski's brawling, sprawling drawling let's go to the races and see all the faces and bet on the horse with the ugliest name. We are Roethke's sister crying into the leaves and Levertov's sad brothers gone to war. We are Ammons's garbage, glittering in the sun, stinking to high heaven. We are dogs on the run and we don't like the leash. We don't trust the cops. We prowl, we yowl, we foul the floor. But give us a bowl of water, a bone, touch our rain-darkened fur, and we will croon you an American song.



© 2009 The Cortland Review