04x13 - Billy Collins Speaks/Milo's Reading Buddy

[bunniefuu]

MAN:
♪ Martha was an average dog ♪

♪ She went... and... and... ♪
(barking, growls)

♪ When she ate
some alphabet soup ♪

♪ Then what happened
was bizarre... ♪

On the way to Martha's stomach,
the letters lost their way.

They traveled to her brain,
and now...

♪ She's got a lot to say ♪

♪ Now she speaks... ♪

How now, brown cow?

♪ Martha speaks ♪

♪ Yeah, she speaks
and speaks and speaks ♪

♪ And speaks and speaks... ♪

What's a caboose?

When are we eating again?

♪ Martha speaks... ♪

Hey, Joe, what do you know?

My name's not Joe.

Hi, there.

♪ She's got the voice,
she's ready to shout ♪

♪ Martha will tell you
what it's all about ♪

♪ Martha will tell you
what it's all about ♪

♪ That dog's unique... ♪

Testing, one, two.

♪ Hear her speak ♪

♪ Martha speaks and speaks
and speaks and speaks and... ♪

♪ Communicates, enumerates,
elucidates, exaggerates ♪

♪ Indicates and explicates ♪

♪ Bloviates and overstates
and... ♪

(panting)

♪ Hyperventilates! ♪

♪ Martha-- to reiterate--
Martha speaks. ♪

Hearken to our tale
of poesy and prose.

Today's show is
all about poetry.

Methinks the air grows denser,

perfumed perhaps
by some unseen censer.

Watch out for words

like "nervous," "struggle,"
and "hesitant."

Hear a tale of words set free,

roaring, zooming,
a verbal grand prix.

I have no idea
what that means.

Watch out for words to do with
poetry, prose, and metaphors,

and we'll see you
at the end of the show.

HELEN:
Nobody here likes a wet dog.

No one wants anything to do
with a dog

that is wet
from being out in the rain

or retrieving a stick
from a lake.

Duck!

going from one person
to another,

hoping for a pat on the head,
a rub behind the ears,

something that could be given
with one hand

without even wrinkling
the conversation.

But everyone pushes her away,

some with a knee,
others with the sole of a boot.

Even the children,
who don't realize she is wet

until they go to pet her,
push her away,

then wipe their hands
on their clothes.

And whenever she heads
towards me,

O stranger of the future!

O inconceivable being!

Whatever the shape
of your house,

however you scoot
from place to place,

no matter how strange
and colorless

the clothes you may wear,

I bet nobody there
likes a wet dog either.

I bet everyone in your pub,
even the children,

pushes her away.

That's exactly what
it's like to be a dog.

I thought you'd like that.

We're studying
poetry this week.

Plus we have to write
one ourselves.

(groans)

Hang on.

That was a poem?

Yup, it's by Billy Collins.

I thought poems had to rhyme.

You know, like songs,

only without all that
annoying singing.

Well, a poem is like a song
that you speak instead of sing.

Some poems rhyme, some don't.

The most important thing
about poems is

that words in poems are chosen

for how they sound
and what they mean.

If a poem doesn't rhyme,

how do I know
it's really a poem?

If I may
interject...

Ms. Clusky read us this thing
by a guy named Kenneth Koch.

He says that a sign that says,

"No dogs allowed on the beach,"
isn't poetry.

But a sign that says, "No dogs
or logs allowed on the beach,

no poodle however trim,
no dachshund unable to swim,"

is a poem.

Duh!

Because it rhymes.

Hmm, you've got a point.

But it also uses rhythm
and interesting words.

Just like the poem
about the wet dog.

Cold apple, TD?

Sure.

Ms. Clusky says,

"Poetry is words that sound
better and mean more."

Well, I'm more--
more confused than ever.

Well, I'll just have
to read you some more poems

and then maybe
you'll understand.

Sounds good to me.

Read away!

"the dogs in poetry,

the cats and the others
in prose."

Cool!

Who wrote that one?

Billy Collins.

The same poet who wrote
the other one.

Yup.

Well, I have to say,

that Billy Collins is one poet
who really understands dogs.

Wait a minute.

No human understands dogs
that well.

(gasps)

Are you saying what I think
you're saying?

It has to be.

Billy Collins
isn't human at all...

He's a dog!

Wait, hang on.

That doesn't make
any sense.

Of course it does.

It makes perfect sense.

Look, there are billions
and billions of planets

in the universe, right?

Right.

But what does that have...

Uh-uh.

And you know how Truman says

that statistically speaking,

Earth can't be the only planet
with life?

So by that logic,

how can Martha be
the only talking dog ever?

Her mouth is moving,
but no words are coming out.

Behold the awesome
power of truth.

(pug yipping)

I'm writing a poem
about Nelson.

I'm thinking of writing one

about my favorite
drawing pencil.

(groans)

Why does it have to be a poem?

Why can't we just stick
to prose?

Prose?

Prose is just plain old
ordinary writing.

Like a newspaper.

Prose is writing that's a lot
like the way you normally talk.

Exactly.

What's wrong with prose?

No rhythm,

no rhyme,
nothing fancy.

If you say,
I don't know...

"Birds of a feather
flock together,"

that's way more interesting
than saying,

"People who have
similar interests

tend to hang around each other."

The ant has a poem?

Yeah.

It goes: Yogurt mountain!

Forward march!

Oh no!

Giant foot!

(blows raspberry)

(girls giggling)

I can't believe it.

A dog and an ant
can write poems,

but I can't.

I'm telling you,
that dog Billy Collins

has set the bar too high.

Poor TD.

He could really use some help
with his poem.

He's really struggling.

(barking)

He is?

The real Billy Collins?

Where is he appearing?

The pet store?
(barking)

Really?

Well, maybe he can help us.

Come on!

Next I'd like to read a poem
called "Dog."

I can hear him
out in the kitchen,

his lapping the night's
only music,

head bowed
over a water bowl

like an illustration

in a book for boys...

Excuse me,

do you know when Billy Collins
is going to read?

Oh, thanks.

Huh?

...flattening his ancient
memory of tall grass

before dropping his weight
with a sigh on the floor.

Uh...

This is the spot where
he will spend the night,

his ears listening for
the syllable of his name,

his tongue hidden...

Excuse me!

Excuse me, everyone.

Sorry to interject,
but I have an announcement.

This man is an imposter!

Seize him!

Get him!

Hurry, he's...

an imposter.

An imposter... (sighs)

An imposter is someone who is
pretending to be someone else.

And this man is pretending
to be Billy Collins,

so call the police!

(dogs barking)

(people gasping)

All right,
where is he?

Where's the real Billy Collins?

Uh...

I bet you have him chained up
to a porch somewhere.

Poor Billy Collins!

(whistle blows)

Aha!

Prepare for justice,
fake Billy Collins.

You're making a mistake!

If he's Billy Collins,
where's his tail?

(barking)

What's that?

Uh-oh.

You mean he's not
an imposter?

Wow, I'm a blockhead.

(barking)

Oh, no, my head isn't actually
shaped like a block.

I meant that
metaphorically.

(confused bark)

Oh, a metaphor.

It's, uh...

Complicated.

I'll explain later.

Right now, I have
some apologizing to do.

Excuse me!

What?

MARTHA:
It's my fault.

I just couldn't believe
any human could know so much

about how a dog feels.

Coming from you, Martha,
that's pretty high praise.

How can you understand
a dog like that?

Well, I guess poetry is really
about using your imagination.

A lot of times poets use poetry

to imagine what it's like
to be another person,

or creature,
or even nature itself.

(dogs sniffing)

Hmm.

Well, I have a friend
who has lots of imagination,

but he's struggling.

He could use some advice.

TD:
It's no use!

I started a hundred poems.

Listen.

"The..."

The... what?

That's as far as I got.

"The."

It's totally boring already.

"A."

(groans)

"Buy motor oil."

Hey, that's good!

Oh, wait, no, that's Dad's.

How can I write a great poem

if I can't even write
one good word?

Hey, writing
can be hard, TD.

And poetry is even
harder than writing.

Tell me about it.

But you know, the point
isn't really to impress teachers

or even to try to write
the best poem ever.

You're going to tell me
it's to have fun.

Exactly.

But I'm not having any fun.

Right now I'd rather
be sick as a dog.

Or an actual dog.

Dogs aren't allowed in school.

Well, why not
write about that?

Being a dog sounds like

something you feel
strongly about.

It could make
a really terrific poem.

It could?

TD:
I woke up this morning,
curled up in a chair.

I yawned and jumped down,
ran a foot through my hair.

I clicked 'cross the floor
on four furry paws.

Hang on a minute,
was that really my schnoz?

Was it always so long,
so cold, and so wet?

Was my face extra-hairy?
But there was no time to fret.

I heard a clock strike!
Late for school, dagnabbit.

I hightailed it downstairs
like I was chasing a rabbit.

I zoomed across yards
and leapt over fences.

Things seemed oddly heightened,
even my senses.

Got to school
in three minutes flat.

It would have been sooner
if it weren't for that cat.

Then a voice cried, "Hold on!
Stop on the double!"

Even with a "C" in spelling,

I could tell
this spelt trouble.

"Wow," I said. Really?

How awesome! How cool!

I turned and zipped out
before he yelled, "Stay!"

I raced down the block,
as free as a stray.

Then all of a sudden,
cr*ck, crash, boom!

The sky sucked me
and everyone else

into this totally weird
wormhole kind of thing!

Suddenly, we were all cavemen
in an alternate reality!

We all screamed help--

PS: I wasn't a dog anymore--

And then we found a television
and we went through it.

The end.

That was "The Sadness of Not
Being a Dog," by TD Kennelly,

with special assistance
from Billy Collins,

former Poet Laureate
of the United States.

A "B"?

I don't get it.

We even had "the end"
right at the end of the poem,

and it rhymed and everything.

I guess Ms. Clusky

didn't like that our poem ran
out of poem halfway through.

But hey,

did you have fun?

Eh, I don't know.

I guess.

"That's the really
important thing."

What poet?

You.

Oh, right.

Come on, cheer up.

I'll buy you a yogurt.

Hey, you guys,

I just heard something weird
from one of the other dogs.

Have you ever heard
of Walt Whitman?

The poet?

I love Walt Whitman.

Turns out he was a giant
fluffy English sheepdog.

They say he liked
to chase ducks,

and he would write a poem

whenever you scratched
his belly.

Cool!

Want to throw sticks?

Great!
Yeah!

A "B"?

I still don't believe it.

I'm home.

I guess I've learned my lesson.

No more writing poems on my own.

Hey, got anything for me?

(barking)

A poem?

Great.

"Forgetfulness."

Hmm...

Well, if you say so.

Thanks, Billy!

Good boy.

Similes and metaphors

are colorful ways
of comparing things.

I'm as hungry as a wolf.

Good simile.
Huh?

A simile is when
you compare two things

Okay, ask me
how I'm like a bear.

A metaphor is when
you compare things

without saying
"like" or "as."

For instance, if you say,
"I'm an early bird,"

or, "TD's idea
is half-baked."

Mmm... baked.

Or if you say,

"I have a beef with you,"

you're not actually
talking about meat.

Oh, but I am!

I'm talking about meat.

This is dinnertime.

Oh, you're right.

Time is flying.

That's a metaphor, right?

Because time doesn't actually
have wings and all.

Right.

Martha, you're a sponge.

Getting fed around here
is a trial.

(dice rolling)

HELEN:
Eight! Yes!

One, two, three, four,
five, six, seven, eight.

Hey, you know why
they call them board games?

Because
they're boring!

Shh!

Your turn.

Come on, dice!

Five! Yes!

One, two,

three, four...

Aw, stuck in the mud.

My turn.

Two.

HELEN:
Freestyle! Yes!

Uh... I have to go
to the bathroom.

You read it for me.

I have to go again.

Here.

Here.

ALL:
Again?

(whimpering)

You notice how Milo
ran to the bathroom

whenever he landed
on Freestyle?

Maybe it was too exciting.

I knew a dog
who had that problem.

I'd hate to see what he does
if he wins.

Hang on.

What if it's not
the excitement?

What do you mean?

I wonder if Milo was just hiding
in the bathroom

so he wouldn't have to read
the Freestyle cards.

What if Milo hides
in the bathroom

because it's a struggle
for him to read?

Struggle... struggle?

When you struggle
with something,

you try really hard to do it,
but it isn't easy.

Like, you're struggling to get
that stick away from Skits.

Looks like I lost the struggle.

So you're saying
Milo can't read?

Not exactly.

I've seen him
reading books before,

and we've talked
about stuff we've read.

But he is shy.

Maybe he's just
a little apprehensive

about reading in front
of other people.

He shouldn't be nervous
about reading in front of us.

Let's go tell him that.

I think that would
embarrass him even more.

Wow.

If only there were some way
to help the guy.

Boing!

There is!

I can be Milo's reading buddy.

MILO:
My reading whatty?

TD:
A reading buddy.

It's someone
who helps you read.

I can read!

I just get nervous reading
in front of other people.

I mess up a lot.

You just need to practice
so you're less apprehensive

about reading out loud.

I'm not apprehensive.

I just don't want to do it

because I'm a little nervous
about what will happen if I try.

That's apprehensive!

That's exactly
what apprehensive means.

If you don't want
to do something

because you're worried
something bad will happen.

And that's why a reading buddy
is so great.

See?

It says right there
on the poster,

"Reading buddies help you

develop confidence
and fluency with reading."

No need to be embarrassed.

I know just how you feel.

Honest!

When I was a little kid,

it was a struggle for me
to read out loud, too.

and look at me now.

I'm a reading machine!

"Granny's Pickle People
Cause Panic in Poughkeepsie."

"Half-price Possum in a Sack!

Hurry! Supplies are hungry."

"Vote for Carolina!"

"Vote for Tiffany!"

"Amount of money TD Kennelly
owes on his overdue books: $."

Ahh! Dive, dive!

You sign up for the reading
buddy program,

poems or prose,
your choice--

and I'll meet you
here tomorrow.

HELEN:
You owe the library $?

TD!

I know, I know.

You didn't lose
the books, did you?

Oh, no, they're not lost.

I know exactly where they are.

Where?

ALL:
Oh.

Then why'd you tell Milo
you'd meet him at the library?

Won't the librarian catch you?

Not to worry.

I know just how to get
around her.

I've got it all worked out.

First, I hide
behind the dumpster

by the library's back door.

At exactly :, the janitor
will empty the trash.

until the assistant librarian
comes by with the book cart

at precisely :.

I hitch a ride on the book cart
to the kids' reading room,

roll behind a bookshelf,
hop off,

monkey up the radiator pipe,

swing Ninja-style
across the ceiling.

I'll reach the other side
of the room,

drop to the reading table
where I told Milo to meet me

at : on the dot.

Thanks to a huge potted plant,

the librarian will never
even know I'm there.

Bing-bang-boom.

I'll get Milo reading,
and no one will be the wiser.

Right on time.

Oh, man!

P-U, you stink!

Ahh!

(sniffing)

(groans in disgust)

Ha-ha!

Ahh!

(crashing)

(grunts in pain)

TD, you now owe $..

(sighs)

(sniffing)

See?

This is much better.

Who wants to be inside
on a day like today?

I can still smell you.

It'll be fine.

Let's get reading,
reading buddy.

Firehouse Freddy,
Blue Mangoes...

Oh man, I love that book!

Did I ever tell you
about the time

Truman just wouldn't
eat ice cream?

It was so funny.

...so we totally faked
the last page of the book,

just to get Alice
off Truman's back.

Oh wow,
look at the time!

We've got to meet
Helen and Truman

and tell them all about your
first reading buddy reading.

(all sniffing)

ALL:
Ew!

What is that heavenly scent?

Oh, sorry.

Do you think Milo
is any more fluent?

Why would you want Milo
to get the flu?

He can't get better
at reading if he's sick!

Not flu.

Fluent.

When you're fluent
at reading,

it means you read
really smoothly.

Yeah.

So smoothly, it sounds
like you're talking.

(barking)

What?

That's awful!

What?

Lily says Milo
didn't do any reading.

She says they had to listen
to TD talking the whole time.

TD!

Uh... I...

Sorry.

And I've got
the perfect person.

(whimpering)

Let's pronounce
all the hard words first.

Mmm-an-go.

Mmm-an-go.

Mmm-an-go.

(growling)

(barking)

I could have
made you fluent.

I'm sorry, Truman, but you
make me even more nervous.

So who else can we get
to be Milo's reading buddy?

(barking)

Lily, that is perfect!

Lily says she saw a TV show
where a dog was a reading buddy.

She says dogs are excellent
reading buddies.

We're not judgmental
because dogs can't read.

We won't correct you;
we just listen.

Plus, we love hearing poems
like "Blue Mangoes."

So then you could be
my reading buddy?

I thought you'd never ask.

(reading):
"Blue mangoes..."

I see you, you shifty,
good-for-nothing tree rat!

Don't think I don't!

(barking)

Sorry.

Where were we?

"Nicholas Mellow
had just stepped outside..."

The postman!

Hi! Hi!

You got any mail for us?

How about some mail-order
doggie biscuits?

MARTHA:
Hmm?

Smells like you were
at Cisco's house,

and Leon's, and Bert's.

How are they doing?

"'Blue mangoes, blue mangoes,'
urged Genghis McGee.

"Won't you please try one?

with some blue mangoes.

I'm pretty sure I'd like them.

I ate a piece
of blue bread once.

It made me really sick.

But I'd still eat one again.

In fact, I think I know where
to find some blue bread now.

(sighs)

I'm never going to find
a good reading buddy.

(whimpering)

(barking)

You... you want to be
my reading buddy?

(barking happily)

Okay, but I'm not very fluent.

(reading):
"Nicholas Mellow
had just stepped outside,

when a strange little fellow
appeared by his side..."

(door opens)

Hello!

Martha, I am so
disappointed in you.

What did I do?

Dig in the garbage?

No.

Dig in the garden?

No.

Chew the furniture?

No.

Interrupt and interject

all during Milo's
reading buddy session?

Yes.

Well, I may have interrupted,
but I did not interject.

Martha, when you...

How could you say
I interjected?

Well, if you'll
let me ex...

But you...

It's against my nature
to interject.

Martha!

What?

You're doing it right now.

Interjecting.

I am?

Yes.

When you interject,

so they can't finish
what they were saying,

or in this case, reading.

Oh.

I guess I did interject.

That's what I...

I couldn't help it.

I struggled to be quiet,

but he was reading about food.

And you know how I love food.

Excuse the interjection.

It's okay.

Maybe I can be
Milo's reading buddy.

MILO (reading):
"And with that, poor Nick,
with a look of pure dread,

"took a teeny, tiny scoop,
then suddenly said,

"'Oh, look! A rock!
It's falling from the sky!'

"Genghis looked up and saw it

from the corner
of his eye."

He's reading!

And he's so fluent.

Shh!

I want to hear
how this ends.

"That rock was falling
so fast and so quick.

"With a thud it landed
and squished poor Nick.

The end."

That's the end?

No wonder I like prose
better than poetry.

That is not a happy ending.

No wonder I ate the last page.

Phooey!

(barking happily)

You want me
to read it again?

KIDS AND MARTHA:
Yes!

Only this time,
read Helen's ending.

It's much better.

No one gets squished,
and there's eating involved.

(whimpering)

"Blue Mangoes."

What's "nervous"?

Nervous means you're
worried about something,

or a little scared.

For instance, Truman is nervous
about getting on boats.

And Helen is nervous
about going in haunted houses.

MARTHA:
Who... who wouldn't be?

I'm nervous about baths.

No, you're not.

You just don't like them.

I'm telling you,

the bath makes me apprehensive
and nervous and scared.

What if I give you
a treat afterwards?

Okay, I'm in.

(gasps)

And TD is nervous
about running into librarians.

But you shouldn't be nervous
about reading out loud.

The only way to get better
is to practice.

Did you catch all the words
in today's presentation?

Here's a reiteration.

Prose is writing that's a lot
like the way you normally talk.

When you interject,

it means you start talking
when someone is trying to talk,

so they can't finish
what they were saying.

it means you read
really smoothly.

How quickly the time flies by.

But alas, it's time to say...

So long.

TD!

(sighs)