In the dark tie-up seven huge Holsteins
\nlower their heads to feed, chained loosely to old saplings
\nwith whitewashed bark still on them.
\nThey are long dead; they survive, in the great day
\nthat cancels the successiveness of creatures.
\nNow she stretches her wrinkly neck, her turnip eye
\nrolls in her skull, she sucks up breath,
\nand stretching her long mouth mid-chew she expels:
\nmm-mmm-mmmmm-mmmmmmmm-ugghwanchh.
\n\u2212 Sweet bellowers enormous and interchangeable,
\nyour dolorous ululations
\nswell out barnsides, fill spaces insides haymows,
\nresound down valleys. Moos of revenant cattle
\nshake ancient timbers and timbers still damp with sap.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
Now it is warm, late June. The old man strokes
\nwhite braids of milk, strp strp, from ruminant beasts
\nwith hipbones like tentpoles, the rough
\nblack-and-white hanging crudely upon them.
\nNow he tilts back his head to recite a poem
\nabout an old bachelor who loves a chicken named Susan.
\nHis voice grows loud with laughter and emphasis
\nin the silent tie-up where old noises gather.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
Now a tail lifts to waterfall huge and yellow
\nor an enormous flop presses out. Done milking, he lifts
\nwith his hoe a leather-hinged board
\nto scrape manure onto the pile underneath, in April
\ncarted for garden and fieldcorn.
\n\t\t\t\tThe cows in their house
\ndecree the seasons; spring seeds corn,
\nsummer hays, autumn fences, and winter saws ice
\nfrom Eagle Pond, sledging it up hill to pack it away
\nin sawdust; through August\u2019s parch and Indian summer
\ngreat chunks of the pond float in the milkshed tank.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
Pull down the spiderwebs! Whitewash the tie-up!
\nIn the great day there is also the odor of poverty
\nand anxiety over the Agricultural Inspector\u2019s visit.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
They are long dead; they survive, in the great day
\nof August, to convene afternoon and morning
\nfor milking. Now they graze Ragged Mountain : \u2212
\nsteep surgarbush, little mountain valleys and brooks,
\nhigh clover meadows, slate-colored lowbush blueberries.
\nWhen grass is sweetest they are slow to leave it;
\nlate afternoons he spends hours searching.
\nHe knows their secret places; he listens for one peal
\nof a cowbell carried on a breeze; he calls:
\n\u201cKe-bosh, ke-bo-o-sh, ke-bosh, ke-bosh\u2026\u201d
\nHe climbs dry creekbeds and old logging roads
\nor struggles up needle-banks pulling on fir branches.
\nHe hacks with his jackknife a chunk of sprucegum
\noozing from bark and softens it in his cheek-pouch
\nfor chewing.
\n\tThen he pushes through hemlock\u2019s gate
\nto join the society of Holsteins; they look up from grass
\nas if mildly surprised, and file immediately downwards.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
Late in October after the grass freezes
\nthe cattle remain in their stalls, twice a day loosed
\nto walk stiff-legged to the watering trough
\nfrom which the old man lifts a white lid of ice.
\nTwice a day he shovels ensilage into their stalls
\nand shakes hay down from the loft, stuffing a forkful
\nunder each steaming nose.
\n\t\t\t In late winter,
\none after one, the pink-white udders
\ndry out as new calves swell their mothers\u2019 bellies.
\nNow these vessels of hugeness bear, one after one,
\nskinny-limbed small Holsteins eager to suck
\nthe bounty of freshening. Now he climbs to the barn
\nin boots and overalls, two sweaters,
\na cloth cap, and somebody\u2019s old woolen coat;
\nnow he parts the calf from its mother after feeding,
\nand strips the udder clean,
\nto rejoice in the sweet frothing tonnage of milk.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
Now in April, when snow remains on the north side
\nof boulders and sugarmaples, and green
\nstarts from wet earth in open places the sun touches,
\nhe unchains the cows one morning after milking
\nand lopes past them to open the pasture gate.
\nNow he returns whooping and slapping their buttocks
\nto set them to pasture again, and they are free
\nto wander eating all day long. Now these wallowing
\nbig-eyed calf-makers, bone-rafters for leather,
\nawkward arks, cud-chewing lethargic mooers,
\nroll their enormous heads, trot, gallop, bounce,
\ncavort, stretch, leap, and bellow \u2212
\nas if everything heavy and cold vanished at once
\nand cow spirits floated
\nweightless as clouds in the great day\u2019s windy April.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
When his neighbor discovers him at eighty-seven, his head
\nleans into the side of his last Holstein;
\nshe has kicked the milkpail over, and blue milk drains
\nthrough floorboards onto the manure pile in the great day.<\/p>\n
-Donald Hall<\/em><\/p>\n\n In the dark tie-up seven huge Holsteins lower their heads to feed, chained loosely to old saplings with whitewashed bark still on them. They are long dead; they survive, in the great day that cancels the successiveness of creatures. Now she stretches her wrinkly neck, her turnip eye rolls in her skull, she sucks up […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2341,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"builder_content":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/copycscmcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/4021"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/copycscmcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/copycscmcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/copycscmcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2341"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/copycscmcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4021"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/copycscmcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/4021\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4022,"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/copycscmcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/4021\/revisions\/4022"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/copycscmcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4021"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}