He is also a renaissance man. One of my greatest frustrations are people that some how or another believe living on a farm means we don't know about or appreciate culture beyond our back door. Brian has escorted me to CATS and the Russian ballet as well as a few George Strait concerts. He has a more developed palate than I do and I have the culinary experience.
But perhaps my favorite blending of old and new cowboy is the genre of cowboy poetry. We were first introduced to this art form a few years ago when Brian attended a reading by Baxter Black. Inspired and delighted by his writings, Brian came home with a book that he read from after supper for many nights. Listening to him dramatically read the carefully crafted pieces that so mimicked our own life, I fell in love all over again. This year I was unable to attend the NCBA with him, but Brian brought me home a wonderful gift- a collection of poems written not by a cowboy or a rancher, but a farm wife. Oh, how I have savored this prose whenever I have a few minutes to snatch. I am not sure this lives up to Emily Dickinson or Robert Frost, both of whom I enjoy, but for this moment in my life reading cowboy poetry feels a little like having a good friend to tea and for a moment I am not so alone, and my cowboy is a prince.
Outside Circle
by Audrey Hankins
In my youth I envied my cowboy
Riding out, decisive at dawn,
While my fetters of babies and bottles
And cooking and cleaning dragged on.
I wished for a careless, ready laugh
For loops that sped straight and fit.
I could have picked replacement heifers
And done a good job of it.
I longed for that outside circle
And sharing at end of day
As I told my tales of triumph
Over cattle that didn't get away
I was a misfit female wallflower
Watching an all male dance.
Long, long I poised on the sidelines
Waiting, hoping for my chance.
I wasn't invited to his party.
I tagged along against advice
Like an unwanted pup who follows
After you've rocked her homeward twice.
But even a pup who's being ignored
Can pick up quite a bit
And eventually time rolls around
To where the man depends on it.
I'll never make a top hand
Or tie wild cow to gentle tree,
But now as he takes the outside circle
Cowboy calls my name and whistles to me.
1 comment:
Oh,Cathy,I love it!
You are so in love,girl! It is a pleasure to read. I hear way too much of the other.
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