Posted by Mr. B. & Crew
Being the urban teenagers we are, none of us is likely to choose to write a cowboy poem, and so writing one becomes a good exercise in the craft of poetry. Instead of focusing on pouring our hearts onto the page, we focus on writing an effective poem that meets the criteria of the genre. The exercise has produced award-winning poetry and un-awarded poetry that's pretty dang good.
For our purposes, a cowboy poem is a rhyming poem of fewer than 36 lines with consistent meter that uses appropriate cowboy lexicon and demonstrates respect for and knowledge of the values and traditions of the American West.
Only William C. accepted the challenge to work through the process of seeking feedback and revising in response to the feedback during the week leading up to the deadline for the Red Steagall Youth Poetry Contest. On Friday, October 5, Mr. B. read alound William's first, second, and third drafts, and the class discussed each. When the third draft was read, there was almost a spontaneous standing O and remarks like, "Wow! That's not even the same poem!" Mr. B. reminded us that the art of writing is the art of rewriting, probably quoting someone he doesn't remember.
Here are four versions of Will's poem (not including any unsubmitted handwritten attempts):
1. First typed draft
Enigma Cowboy (or William C.'c Cowboy Thingy) (9/30/7)
Where have all those cowhands gone,
those men with the calloused hands,
the fellas who tend the cattle,
and live in our native lands.
Those stubborn ol' cowboys,
always set in their ways,
keepin' to their sacred code,
every night and every day.
That loyal tough ol' bunch,
always starin' into that big blue sky,
minds hard at work,
their bodies tough and tried.
Those folk who live their lives,
always ridin' free,
those proud boys and girls,
who live in you and me.
2. First Revision, Second Draft
Second Draft of Untitled Cowboy Thing (10/2/7)
Where have all those cowhands gone,
those men with the calloused hands,
the ruffians who tend to the cattle,
and live in our native lands.
Those stubborn ol' righteous cowboys,
always set in their mulish ways,
keepin' to that sacred code,
every night and every day.
That devoted tough ol' bunch,
always starin' at that big blue sky,
their leathery bodies hard at work,
with minds tough and tried.
They lived on ranches and on the range,
taken care of their daily chores,
the hardest workin' bunch of men,
we hear about in hometown lore.
Now where have all them cowboys gone,
away from our minds and thoughts,
the roughnecks who must be remembered,
whether they have stayed or not.
The folks who live their lives,
always ridin' free,
those proud ol' men,
who live in you and me.
3. Third Draft, Second Revision (10/4/7)
The Lost Cowboy
Where have all those cowhands gone,
those men with the calloused hands,
the untamed souls who tend the cattle,
and thrive in our native lands.
Those stubborn ol' righteous cowboys,
all set in their mulish ways,
keepin' to their sacred code.
every night and every day.
That devoted tough ol' bunch,
with spurs that never die,
their leathery bodies hard at work,
with minds tough and tried.
They worked the ranches and rode the range,
with sweat runnin' down their side,
the hardest workin' lot of men,
their hearts swollen with pride.
Now where have all them cowboys gone,
away from the place they call home,
the vacant space they left behind,
where no longer cattle roam.
But maybe those folk who live their lives,
always ridin' so free,
will never be gone,
because they live inside of you and me.
4. And the final submission
Fourth Draft, Third Revision (10/5/7)
The Lost Cowboy
Where have all those cowhands gone,
those men with the calloused hands,
the untamed souls who tend the cattle,
and thrive in our native lands?
Those stubborn ol' righteous cowboys,
all set in their mulish ways,
keepin' to their sacred code.
every night and every day?
Where’s that devoted tough ol' bunch,
with spurs that never die,
their leathery bodies hard at work,
with minds tough and tried?
They worked the ranches and rode the range,
with sweat runnin' down their side,
the hardest workin' lot of men,
their hearts swollen with pride.
Now where have all them cowboys gone,
away from the place they called home,
the vacant space they left behind,
where the cattle no longer roam?
Maybe those folk who live their lives,
always ridin' so free,
never have been really gone,
but live inside you and me.
See the Resource Blog for the entries of John S. and Katie K. and Past Winners of the Red Steagall Cowboy Gathering Youth Poetry Contest, Elizabeth C., 2006 First Place, and Marissa H., 2004 Second Place.
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11 comments:
The poems really hit home. Looking at the development of the work really showed William's potential as a writer. Good show, I urge you to keep writing.
With my ambition of becoming a poet, William's poem showed how much work and effort you have to put in to a piece of Art. Reading the way his poem changed through revisions was amazing, all the details that he added, the structure of the stanzas it was all so...how do you
say?....Beautiful.
We noticed the same thing when we watched the video about Ron Mueck's process of making sculpture. You might check out the post about the museum trip. And by the way,I think you may be falling into a kind of critical vocabulary trap. You remember my suggestion that "It's the way he/she uses the words," and "the way it flows" as being hollow statements? And there was something else I can't remember now. At any rate, "adding details" belongs in that same category unless you can list some of those details. What details?
This is cool. See ya lata!
(just kidding)
So I actually never read alot
of western inspired poems, but I actually like these. I wonder why there are so many versions. But I think the rhyming was a good idea. Some poems are meant to rhyme and some are not. I never write about anything rural. I always write about urban things and metropolitan things and
eat metropolitan-ly and shop metropolitan-ly and speak...well you get the gist. My family is a northern family. But back to what I was saying. I remember reading a poem in last year's Literary Magazine talking about urban women. It caused quite a ruckus among all of us because the writer was very opinionated. I guess poetry diversity is never a bad thing. In fact, it's almost a major reason why we would write poetry. At least that's what I think.-
There are some other really good cowboy poems by metropolitan students on the resource blog. Did you really wonder why there are so many versions? Oh my. Did you skip the introductory material? Did you miss the Ron Mueck video? The opinionted poet you spoke of, she's a metropolitan girl herself, maybe even less likely to ride a horse or become a cowgirl than you. Variety rules!
I knew Will could write. What a poem! I want to write cowboy poetry.
That poem was beautiful. It really showed me just how good you can make something if you work on it long enough. When you told my class that the art of writing was really the art of re-writing it made me start thinking of how many times I re-write and re-write and re-write my stories until I'm satisfied. I can't wait until I get a chance to write a story in your class. For some reason I'm not good at poems.
Hanna and Christine, why is it so good? What makes it good? What did he do that makes it that way?
AND
Don't wait for me to assign a cowboy poem or a short story! Write it!
I loved the poem. And I applaud Will for his dedication! Also, I really enjoyed the day when we went around and talked about Will's poem and pointed out the things that affected us and what we though worked. It was fun and interesting to see how the poem changed so much by the third time.
William, it is an excellent poem. After rewriting it many times you
came up with an excellent poem. You found the words to use and used
them effectively, and the poem flows very well. It doesn't strike my emotional chord, but I think that's primarily because I'm too
tired to think. Great job and goodbye.
Good work.
Some of those cowboys live wnd work here, south of Wichita Falls. The horses can go where there are no roads and are less damaging to the ecosystem than vehicles with tires. When the cowboys come into town for lunch, they load the horses into trailers, drive into town and leave the trailers parked in the shade (when they can find it - horse trailers have good, shady roofs and open slats that let in any breeze). Walking into the diner, cowboy spurs jingle - you hear them before you see them and try not to stare. Cowboys (and cowgirls) are often covered in red, dusty dirt. They sit at one table next to the oilfield hands. These guys (I hava not seen a female oilfield hand yet) are always grimy and wear black grease in every fold of cloth or skin. Neither group will sit in booths, perhaps to keep them clean.
The hewest blue jean color looks exactly like the dirty oilfield jeans. Nobody here seems interested in wearing them - it's been done.
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