Monday, October 29, 2007

Hay for Horses

He had driven half the night
From far down San Joaquin
Through Mariposa, up the
Dangerous mountain roads,
And pulled in at eight a.m.
With his big truckload of hay
behind the barn.
With winch and ropes and hooks
We stacked the bales up clean
To splintery redwood rafters
High in the dark, flecks of alfalfa
Whirling through shingle-cracks of light,
Itch of haydust in the sweaty shirt
and shoes.
At lunchtime under Black oak
Out in the hot corral,
-The old mare nosing lunchpails,
Grasshoppers ling in the weeds-
"I'm sixty-eight," he said,
"I first bucked hay when I was seventeen.
I thought, that day I started,
I sure would to do this all my life.
And dammit, that's just what
I've gone and done!

From "Rip-Rap"

by Gary Snyder

I was talking with a friend about life regrets, and the next day he dropped off this poem. I especially like it because it takes place not far from where my family lived in Fresno.


Paul Merrill said...

Fun to find your blog via Lingamish.

I'll be back, too!

Brad Wright said...

Glad that you liked it... can't promise too much poetry,though.