Road Trip to Elko: Cowboy Poetry – Final
After a week of the most stimulating input imaginable, I woke up on the morning of our departure with–surprise–poetry just pouring out of me! The first one woke me up at 5:00 am with a pounding heart–I think it was saying “Let me out!”–and by 5:05 am my first poem had written itself. As we drove home and shared the wheel, I spent my “off” time writing and writing, and it hasn’t stopped yet. Apparently poetry is a highly contagious virus. You can catch it in Elko!
Looking at our first blogs, I laugh—the cold weather we packed for and expected turned into a banana belt heat wave, and expect for some very cold overnight temperatures that required our heaviest jackets and gloves, we mostly just dressed like we do at home. After lunch at a Mexican restaurant in Truckee, where we stopped for a photo in front of a picturesque old gas station sign, we made good time over the Sierras, and stopped for a final photo shoot at the same scenic overlook where we’d shot photos last Monday on the way up. The snow was gone, the day sunny and bright.
Max met us at the turnoff to Anne’s ranch, we unloaded luggage from her truck to our jeep, then we headed south towards home, stopping for a bite to eat and a long, glowing overview of our week’s adventures.
Follow-up, Tuesday morning 3 February 2009: The poetry that began in Elko is still just popping up—hard to say where it’s coming from, but I seem to have received some kind of gift to be sensitive to and recognize moments of crystal clarity around me, and to put them down in layers of meaning. I hope and pray this gift stays with me. Who knows? Anyway, here, to wrap up our Cowboy Poetry adventure, are some of my own poems, and the best mementos I have brought home from this fabulous experience:
I heard this term, Catch and Release (yes, the fishing term) used to describe modern dating…but I also thought it apropos to the overwhelming whirl of performances, culture, experiences, and moments of and friendships experienced during this week’s Gathering:
Catch and Release
Oh! A sudden tug,
Then this spinning
Push-pull dance
Invisible connection
Between two living souls
Exhilarating struggle
Then
In my hands
Such gleaming perfection
Shining colors
Silver and turquoise
Purple, grey and blue
Unspeakable beauty
In my hands
Held for a moment
Only
But I cannot keep it
And I cannot kill it
So!
I let it go
What Cost
One shouldn’t go shopping in Elko—
Though temptations aplenty abound:
Buy this book, or this jacket, this music—
I’m not looking, but look what I found!
One shouldn’t go shopping in Elko—
No matter what treasures you see:
For the Gathering brings you such choices
Like the friendships—the friendships are free!
Kick-Ass Muse
Kick-ass muse
Wakes me early
Sends me words
Pounding
to get out
Too dark to
Flick a light on
To write
Can’t wake Anne
So the poems just
Shine in
My head
Grab a scrap of
Paper
And write
Sitting in the
Bathroom
Kick-ass muse!
When the Hats Come into Town
When the hats come into town
strange birds perch on peoples’
heads, their wings, unflapping
fly around town.
Flocks swirl from here to there
they congregate awhile
then off they go again,
when
the hats come into town.
Let me tell you, these poets and performers can really lead you around by the nose—or ears!
No Bridle
Don’t need no bridle…
You can flick ‘em
around easy
Just tell a good, long story—
Something poignant and deep—
follow with a good joke then
hit ‘em quick with a real sad ballad.
Won’t need no bridle
to get ‘em where you
want to go.
And if they won’t go, pull
on their ears some more.
Reborn
Home again, home again
Has it been days?
Or lifetimes and worlds away—
I am dazed.
Exhausted, refreshed and
Renewed and reborn
Home again, home again
Home
Shoulda Gone
Ran into Kathy
at the market just now—she
and Bob used to cowboy
near Elko 30 years ago or more.
Said they’d planned to go
to the Gathering
21 years ago but
their daughter called, said
she was getting
married—so they
cancelled.
Kids got divorced, what,
15 years ago now?
Said she thought
maybe they shoulda gone
after all.
