Have just returned from a weekend course in the heartland and garden of Tudor England, by the banks of Shakespeare's Avon, in the Vale of Evesham. We focussed on colour, sound and tapping into memory, so this is a "tidied" piece of flow writing. :)) xx
THE LISTLESSNESS OF COWS
Any port in a storm. Mine was the cow stall with its heavy cargo, its moored-up fleet of massive bodies, huge-hulled, listing slightly from side to side on invisible tides, the ebb and flow of milking.
Cows’ wide-eyed listlessness succoured me. Their shifting, awkward mass, their great, maternal bulk absorbed me. Here, within dense confines of warm brick walls, was a sense of closeness, a thickening of skin and bone. Puffing sweet, damp breath through tickly-soft stubble, they smoothed me with supple, sandpaper licks from rubbery tongues. The stringy lash of their bell-rope tails swung to a steady, slow toll. I lost myself knee-deep in airy togs of hay; listened as they nodded and munched on wisps of dry summers gone by. All was well.
When winter passed I watched as their ships set sail, launched on seas of liquid green, hoisting their tails, their sails, and running with the breeze. We let the seasons weather our hide, make us watertight and strong.
Kate this takes me back a few years when on the farms we would tend to the cows early in the morning when it was the dry season, the paddocks were wet and muddy, and the cows would run after the tractor for the hay..some of them were so sweet, with eyelashes to die for..They all had names, even in a herd of 300 head or more..and even if we doubled up LOL..
Now, we are being told that Bovines are the cause of our plight, with their methane...I say what a load of old Cow Manure to that.
Loved this Kate, thanks for the memory boost..Kudo's to Cows.
Hugzz Ch'erie
As a fan of old barns and of quaint old family farms, I really liked this, Kate. Most of them are sadly a thing of the past these days. And I love your last sentence.
Second paragraph you sucked me in--sharing a three-legged stool with you, I was... and just last week, I was planning a poem in my mind about those heavy, sand-papery tongues and chomping gums.
And reading this, I was reminded of one summer when I rode the bull-- I'll have to write about it sometime..too, too funny. I rode him for 15 minutes. It wasn't very eventful-- good old Stanley. We sold the farm, and he went with it. Years later, I visited my uncle's dairy, and this bull came running at me, with his head low, and his horns forward-pointing. I screamed and backed way-way up. My uncle was laughing... "Don't you know who that is?" he asked. I said no, and then he told me he'd bought the bull from Dad. Needless to say, we had a nice reunion, with me scratching that dusty cowlick just between his eyes (word to the wise, don't teach your young bulls to do this, or they'll be running pell-mell towards children always, head down, horns honed in for that scritch-scratch place they think is heaven itself.)
I've read stories of my young, Mormon ancestors walking across the plains towards their promised land, leading the oxen that would pull their family there. They grew so attatched to them--mourned their deaths just as if they were family members who'd died along the way. I believe it. There is something so placid, and so homey about them.
Well, you've brought back a wealth of memories with this thought-flow. You've got some very good material in it too--especially that second part.
I raise my tail to the wind, and get a mooooove on. --Charlie
I can recall and relate to so much of this sweet Kate, from my childhood days on my Uncle's and grandparents farms in PEI. As a city boy visiting the country these animals seemed almost monstrous to me while to my country cousins they were like big old dogs. Your descriptive images paint so many scenes that I could almost smell the hay and manure that is always a part of any barn. Very nicely done and glad to see you post again.
hugs
fee
It is hard to find words to give this piece of fabulous creativity the justice it deserves. Wonderful work, Kate. Thank you for sharing your talent and your gifts. Love and best wishes,
Kate, the images in this is superb, like watching a live movie as it comes to life line after line. I could almost feel the sandpaper licks of their tongues and feel a breeze from their swinging tails. You certainly brought this to life and made it feel real to this reader...I'd rate this excellent!
I felt I was in that barn with all of you!! Oh How I love the images and ambience of your poem Kate. It took me back to simple times and love for God's bovine creatures. Wonderful work as always.
It was good to be there with you in the warm confines
of the cow stall, as an on-looker of course. Love the
line: listened as they nodded and munched on wisps of
dry summers gone by. - gene.
Immortalized on poetic canvas, a cow stall is a superb makeshift stopover to disentangle and wonder what it must have felt like to Columbus marking his journey on his flagship, the Santa Maria beginning his long voyage back to Spain, where cows were abundant. To bunk with the heifers is to know nourishment flows from the teat of life and we just as well sup from colonial times. A journey well-documented, Kate. Paints a green meadow when you get back on land...simplified tints and everything on earth shares those same tints, the whole sky and sea having blue tonality...be well.
We saw cows in our country yesterday lying down. They say when cows lie down in the meadow it is going to rain. Glad your travels through England countryside inspired you to write and lend them to us for a while. Good write so interesting.
First Edition Translation of Teselas by Carmen Crespo X111 César Simón Poetry Prixe 2016 Translated from Spanish by Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospíde
The songs and art in this book are about our collective emergence after the pandemic and trauma of the last few years - comprised of 5 collections: World as Refuge, Where We Live, In Our Hands, Rhythms of Change and What We See & Sow.
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Now, we are being told that Bovines are the cause of our plight, with their methane...I say what a load of old Cow Manure to that.
Loved this Kate, thanks for the memory boost..Kudo's to Cows.
Hugzz Ch'erie
Newfie Hugs, Rose
Christine
Ted
Be always safe,
Karen
And reading this, I was reminded of one summer when I rode the bull-- I'll have to write about it sometime..too, too funny. I rode him for 15 minutes. It wasn't very eventful-- good old Stanley. We sold the farm, and he went with it. Years later, I visited my uncle's dairy, and this bull came running at me, with his head low, and his horns forward-pointing. I screamed and backed way-way up. My uncle was laughing... "Don't you know who that is?" he asked. I said no, and then he told me he'd bought the bull from Dad. Needless to say, we had a nice reunion, with me scratching that dusty cowlick just between his eyes (word to the wise, don't teach your young bulls to do this, or they'll be running pell-mell towards children always, head down, horns honed in for that scritch-scratch place they think is heaven itself.)
I've read stories of my young, Mormon ancestors walking across the plains towards their promised land, leading the oxen that would pull their family there. They grew so attatched to them--mourned their deaths just as if they were family members who'd died along the way. I believe it. There is something so placid, and so homey about them.
Well, you've brought back a wealth of memories with this thought-flow. You've got some very good material in it too--especially that second part.
I raise my tail to the wind, and get a mooooove on. --Charlie
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in America, Karen Lynn in Texas. :D *mooing contentedly at this write* LOL
hugs
fee
Regis
Blessings,
Joyce B.
Almost feel like I was there, with you - thank you for the instant vacation! Love your lines, your imagery - beautiful, once more -
(((HUGS))) and love, karla.
of the cow stall, as an on-looker of course. Love the
line: listened as they nodded and munched on wisps of
dry summers gone by. - gene.
Love,
Sage