Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House, a Poem by Billy Collins

Billy Collins was born in New York City in March 1941, two months before Duluth-born Bob Dylan. Collins served as U.S. Poet Laureate from 2001 to 2003. Renowned for his accessible, conversational style, Collins writes witty, observational poems that transform everyday moments—reading in a hammock, listening to jazz, or pondering ordinary objects—into profound, often humorous reflections. 

Billy Collins by Marcelo Noah (Public Domain)

I was introduced to his work through his Sailing Alone Around the Room (2001). "Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House" was so apt and so fun that I purchased the whole book. 

It can be argued that his career breakthrough came with Questions About Angels (1991), followed by popular collections like Picnic, Lightning (1998),  (2001), and Aimless Love (2013). 

As Laureate, he launched Poetry 180, introducing contemporary poems to high school students. Collins’s clear language and gentle irony have made him one of America’s most popular poets, bridging literary tradition with broad appeal. Evidently he continues publishing, most recently Dog Show (2025).  

* * * 

Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark 

that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.

I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast

but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,

sitting there in the oboe section barking,

his eyes fixed on the conductor who is

entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful

silence to the famous barking dog solo,

that endless coda that first established

Beethoven as an innovative genius.

Billy Collins

Related Links

The Trouble With Poetry

Aristotle (I love this poem

Some Days

Do you have a favorite poet or poem?

Please share it in the comments.

Aristotle, Courage and the Golden Mean

I saw this quote and it rang so true that I wanted to write about it.

Courage is the golden mean as a virtue, between too much fear which produces cowardice and too little fear which produces recklessness.

When I Googled it to see where this sentence came from, I found that I had already written about it two years ago, on Medium.

This experience brought to mind a friend who had read every Louis L'Amour Western. That would be 100, for those who might be counting. (He also wrote 250 short stories, so the guy was prolific.) What she said was that in his last books he sometimes mixed up his characters. That is, someone in book 87 might accidentally make a cameo appearance in book 98. She was certain that L'Amour's little mix-ups were unintentional. 

I have occasionally found articles or blog posts I wrote that I forgot about entirely. Occasionlly I have opened a file that I thought was really well written, but wasn't sure if I wrote it or it was copied from somewhere else. 

I'm not yet 70, so I have miles to go before I sleep, and will likely experience this more than a few times as the shadows creep in a little further down the road.

* * * 
Here's the original story on Medium. It's titled Courage: The Golden Mean Between Cowardice and Recklessness.

* * * 

The reason this Aristotle quote was on my mind was because I was thinking about our National Poet Laureate Billy Collins, who wrote a poem titled Aristotle. It happens to be one of my favorites and appears near the end of his book titled Sailing Alone Around the Room. It's a fabulous bit of writing that many writers would sacrifice an arm to be able to achieve. (You can still be a writer with one hand, right?) It might actually be enlightening to discover what it really feels like to experience the sound of one hand clapping. (Am I pushing that too far?) 

Collins was on my mind because very recently an acquaintance of mine, a poetry prof at UWS, got a phone call from Mr. Collins. The National Poet Laureate had called to notify him that his book of poems, Roze & Blud, was under consideration for a Pulitzer.  Congrats, Jayson. Your fans are all on pins and needles.

Related Links

 

Aristotle, by Billy Collins

UWS Poetry Prof's Collection Gets Pulitzer Consideration

Jayson Iwen Talks About Literature, Translation Work and Jawdat Fakhreddine's Lighthouse for the Drowning

Introduction to Poetry by Billy Collins

Billy Collins Captures the Way It Is in Some Days

Photo by Daniil Silantev on Unsplash

Former U.S. Poet Laureate Billy Collins writes in a folksy contemporary style that has endeared him to many a fan. His poem Some Days is typical of the light touch he uses to amuse us while providing a morsel to chew on afterwards.

In between this intro and the poem I thought I would throw in a couple unrelated items for you to think about. The first is an article I read on Medium titled, The Deepest Hole in the World. I don't care much for publications with limits but I suppose they're there for a reason. Medium is free of advertising so they need rely on other methods of rewarding their contributors.

The second is this little item that surprised me, found on the CDC website. If you came of age in the Sixties, do you recall a flu pandemic that killed a million people? Probably not, because we were distracted by a Vietnam War, riots in the streets and assassinations (MLK and Bobby).

According to the CDC the estimated number of deaths was 1 million worldwide and about 100,000 in the United States. Most excess deaths were in people 65 years and older. It also states that the H3N2 virus continues to circulate worldwide as a seasonal influenza A virus. Seasonal H3N2 viruses, which are associated with severe illness in older people, undergo regular antigenic drift. There is not a lot of detail but you can read about it here and find links to other past pandemics.
See: 1968 Pandemic (H3N2 virus)

* * * *

And now, Some Days by Billy Collins.

Some Days
Some days I put the people in their places at the table,
bend their legs at the knees,
if they come with that feature,
and fix them into the tiny wooden chairs.

All afternoon they face one another,
the man in the brown suit,
the woman in the blue dress,
perfectly motionless, perfectly behaved.

But other days, I am the one
who is lifted up by the ribs,
then lowered into the dining room of a dollhouse
to sit with the others at the long table.

Very funny,
but how would you like it
if you never knew from one day to the next
if you were going to spend it

striding around like a vivid god,
your shoulders in the clouds,
or sitting down there amidst the wallpaper,
staring straight ahead with your little plastic face?

This is the Beginning

In the old days writers frequently kept notebooks where they jotted ideas, observations and snippets of conversations. These days much of this miscellany is stored in folders on our laptops, backup drives and in other virtual spaces.

As a columnist I often go through many false starts before I hit on a theme that I can carry all the way through. Many of these false starts are stored as seed for future articles.

This morning I found this bit of patter which found its initial impetus in a poem by Billy Collins titled Aristotle.

This is the Beginning

This is the beginning. Almost anything can happen. Except we’re writing for a ____ magazine, so it constrains our possibilities somewhat.

Being somewhat responsible the beginning has a purpose beyond merely hooking the reader. It is useful for telegraphing what’s to come, something akin to a billboard. It’s like an introduction at a party. You really don’t entirely know where it will lead, but you’re intrigued. You still want to go with it. And if it is a proper beginning it will not chew up too much of the real estate on this page because all the important parts need breathing room as they flow out from this, the beginning.

So, where are we going from here? That really is a question for so many aspects of life. When we try to see the future it’s a real problem because our only clues are the ones in our past. There’s a wall between today and tomorrow, and we don’t have a periscope to see over or around it.

The only thing we see with clarity is behind us. Even though we’re fond of saying “hindsight is 20/20” the reality is not really that way. All too often we filter events through a mental grid and misinterpret their significance. So it is that we have to become detectives and learn to recognize which clues are important, and when we connect the right dots a shape will begin to form.

* * * *

This is the end.

Introduction to Poetry by Billy Collins

William “Billy” Collins is an American poet who served two terms as the U. S. Poet Laureate from 2001 to 2003 as well as New York State Poet for 2004. I try to picture why he goes by Billy and not William or Bill. I would imagine his mom calling him William when he didn't eat his peas.

A few years back I shared here his hilarious Another Reason I Don't Keep a Gun in the House about a neighbor's dog that wouldn't stop barking. We've probably all been in similar situations. When I lived in Puerto Rico for a year in 1979 we only had screens on the windows with louvres that opened and shut for privacy when changing. The neighborhoods in San Juan are tightly packed and at night the sound would carry. One evening around one in the morning a dog somewhere nearby was barking and barking and barking. I was now wide awake and what happened next went like this: bark bark bark bark bark bang.

No more barking.

Poetry, like a walk through the woods or along the beach, is one of those pleasures we never seem to take enough time for. When I return to a favorite poem -- one of my favorites is Collins' Aristotle -- it always seems to give a lift, or leave something in you that remains precious.

Introduction to Poetry

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

Copyright Billy Collins

Today is Monday.

Poems for People Who Are Not Into Poetry

A few years ago I was thinking of offering to do a poetry reading at Barnes and Noble called "An Hour of Poetry for People Who Are Not Into It." I like poetry, and since I also write a little verse myself now and then, it seems like it would be nice if more people would like poetry. My aim at the B&N event would be to share poems that connect, in the hopes of introducing people to some fun, thought provoking material which they are not familiar with because it is labelled Poetry.

Like modern art, a lot of poetry is just gobbledy-gook for many folk who only end up scratching their heads. "Why is this a good poem?" some could ask. "What was that all about?" Like opera, some people hear the word and steer clear.

Anyways, I made a list of selections for that hour of entertainment and placed it in a folder on my desktop. I shared it about four years ago and it seemed worth sharing again. If I had more time I would put the links here, but alas... I am on deadline. (I have to get dressed for work.) Check them out. I'm sure they will reward you.

Billy Collins
(selections from Sailing Alone Around the Room)
Aristotle
Another Reason I Don't Keep a Gun in the House
Some Days

Hilaire Belloc
Matilda Who Told Lies and Was Burned

Rilke
(from The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke)
The Panther
Autumn Day
Sonnets to Orpheus 1.3 and II. 13

Dorothy Parker
Bric-A-Brac

Robert Browning
How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix

Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Blackberries

Robert Frost
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Eve

Ed Newman
Wisconsin Misty Morning
Bad Break
Hitchhiking Across Antarctica
High Upon the Wire

Cervantes
Poem from Don Quixote

Dale Wasserman
Lyrics of To Dream the Impossible Dream

Bob Dylan
Only a Pawn in Their Game
Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall
It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleedin’)

Enjoy!

Billy Collins, Poet Laureate

I enjoy reading poetry. I also enjoy listening to audio books when I’m in the car. So what a treat last night when I found an audio presentation of U.S. Poet Laureate Billy Collins reading some of his work.

Actually, it is a recording of a live reading, apparently sponsored by National Public Radio because the speaker introducing him begins by saying that before they can begin he will be doing a pledge drive. The audience laughs heartily at the inside joke because it does seem whenever NPR has something especially good for its listeners, it's Pledge Drive season.

Anyways, William “Billy” Collins is an American poet who served two terms as the U. S. Poet Laureate from 2001 to 2003 as well as New York State Poet for 2004. I try to picture why he goes by Billy and not William or Bill. I would imagine his mom calling him William when he didn't eat his peas.

Billy Collins is the name and it fits because, like his poetry, it's unpretentious. There's a down-to-earth whimsical quality to a lot of his work. And though I don't much read what poetry critics say because I read to enjoy it, not to write a paper, I'm guessing that some critics might say he's too accessible to be considered "great." My opinion is that his work is a rich mother lode of entertainment and content, word play and imagery, and worth whatever time you invest to sit with him a spell. Especially when it's absolutely frigid cold like as it has been this week in Northern MN. Sit by a fireplace, curl up with Billy, and enjoy his company.

This one is from his book Sailing Alone Around the Room

Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
hat he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,

barking, barking, barking,
and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.


For a few other comments along this line, read my blog entry The Love of Poetry & Other Surprises. And if you want to take a chance on a handful of poems that I've penned, here are a few early favorites.


And, finally, here is a link to a whole lot of other poems by Mr. Collins, who really is a national treasure.

The Love of Poetry & Other Surprises

Last night. I knew going into it that this would not be a typical Friday evening. Harrold and Nancy, my wife’s sister and her husband, were flying in from Dallas. My father-in-law Bud Wagner, WWII vet and author of And There Shall Be Wars, was picking them up at the airport. They were to be here for supper.

I’d hurried home, changed clothes and skimmed through email in an effort to clear my plate for an evening of playing host, and giving myself the liberty to temporarily have no responsibilities. The phone rang. It was my daughter calling home from college to ask if they were here yet. She was all cheerfulness. We shared a few minutes on the phone. I suggested she call back in an hour or so.

Ten minutes later, I heard the gate opening outside my opened office window. The dogs sprang up and went into their berserk welcoming agitation. I walked to the door and, lo! It was my daughter, beaming with joy, in part due to seeing the surprise on my face. She had not called from Morris at all. She’d been hitchhiking and was just down the road with a friend of hers named Matt.

“Happy belated Birthday, Dad,” she said, handing me a present and a card. After hugs and greetings (Susie had joined us at this point) we chatted, laughed, talked, listened to hitchhiking stories.

This kind of unexpected surprise visitation has become something of a tradition in our family, handed down thru the generations. Bud, my wife’s dad, pulled off surprise visits to Nancy and Harrold in Dallas – a thousand miles away – on more than one occasion. Susie and I with the kids in tow pulled off a surprise Easter visit to my folks ten or twelve years ago. A variation of “shock and awe,” you might say.

Shortly after, our guests arrived. A wonderful dinner was shared. At some point I opened the card, which contained a CD of music that Christina made for me with love, and then the package, a book of poetry by Czeslaw Milosz called Facing the River.

After dinner we’d broken up into pairs, jabbering enthusiastically, playing catch up after not having seen one another in a year. Harrold picked up the Milosz book, quietly read a couple poems, then made a soft “wow” type exclamation.

Over the years we've shared many conversations on the widest range of topics. The four of us -- Harrold, Nancy, Susie and I – went to Mexico together in the fall of 1980 to work at an orphanage. The shared experience taught us much, and though we live in different parts of the country, our paths have converged annually. Business, faith, philosophy, child-rearing, pets, home ownership, health, taxes, readings, music… over the years we have talked about many things, but last night for the first time that I can recall we got jazzed about poetry. Milosz set it off.

Sliding into the living room I proceeded to grab books by two of my favorite poets, Rainer Maria Rilke and Billy Collins. I read to Harrold "Another Reason I Don’t Keep A Gun in the House" from Collins’ Sailing Alone Around the Room. Harrold’s face lit up with that one, so I shared another… and then another.

We entered Rilke’s "The Panther"… then moved to my office where, online, I began to share a few of my poems beginning with one about loneliness called "Hitchhiking Across Antarctica." I recited other poems from my website, in part because I enjoy the reciting poetry and in part because I had a captive audience. Each became a catalyst for more stories from each of our life experiences. Like water overflowing its banks, the conversation spilled into new regions in unexpected ways. No harm done, not like hurricanes and floods. But a really fine beginning to their stay with us.

Here’s a poem from Billy Collins about poetry itself. Tomorrow maybe I will share a couple of my own, though as is often the case, sometimes you never know what will happen next.

Introduction to Poetry

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

Billy Collins

Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.

I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast

but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,

sitting there in the oboe section barking,

his eyes fixed on the conductor who is

entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful

silence to the famous barking dog solo,

that endless coda that first established

Beethoven as an innovative genius.

Billy Collins

An Hour of Poetry for People Who Are Not Into It

A few years ago I was thinking of offering to do a poetry reading at Barnes and Noble called "An Hour of Poetry for People Who Are Not Into It" with the aim of sharing poems that connect, in the hopes of introducing people to some fun, thought provoking material which they are not familiar with because it is labelled "Poetry" and a lot of people simply think they do not LIKE poetry.
So, I made a list of my selections for that hour of entertainment and placed it in a folder on my desktop. Having come across it this morning, it seemed worth sharing. If you can find some of these, they will reward you. Or, if you be patient, I will share some of them on this blog over the next short space of days.

Billy Collins
(selections from Sailing Alone Around the Room)
Aristotle p. 132
Another Reason I Don't Keep a Gun in the House p. 3
Some Days p. 97

Hilaire Belloc
Matilda Who Told Lies and Was Burned

Rilke
(from The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke)
first sentence, page 91
The Panther p. 25
Autumn Day p 11 two versions
Sonnets to Orpheus 1.3 and II. 13

Dorothy Parker
Bric-A-Brac

Robert Browning
How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix

Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Blackberries

Robert Frost
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Eve

Ed Newman
Wisconsin Misty Morning
Bad Break
Hitchhiking Across Antarctica
High Upon the Wire

Cervantes
Poem from Don Quixote

Dale Wasserman
Lyrics of To Dream the Impossible Dream

Bob Dylan
Only a Pawn in Their Game
Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall
It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleedin’)

One reason for sharing a night of poetry would be to share a few of my own poems with a wider audience. If you have interest, here is a link to a few of my early favorites which I have produced. http://www.enewman.biz/p-favos.html