From My Commonplace Book - 47

Sometime the Cow Kick Your Head

by Andrew J. Grossman


Sometime the cow kick your head
Sometime she just moo

Even the cow don't know
What she going to do

Until she look at you
Knocked out upon the ground

And she say, "Woo
My leg do that to him"



This poem was published in Sometime the Cow Kick Your Head: The Biennial of Light Verse and Witty Poems, edited by Robert Wallace. A few poems by Andrew J. Grossman are archived online; his contributor note in a 1988 issue of Coe Review states simply "Washington, DC." Otherwise I couldn't find any information on him. Great cow poem, though.

Comments

I ate pecan pie 2 days in a row - little tiny slivers! Just the 2! And today I feel like that cow kicked me in the head.

Good timing, Merry!
 
Oh dear, Madie. Tiny slivers! Not fair! I hope you feel better soon.

How many more weeks until the end of the holiday season? Help!
 
Well, L'engle, people on farms often get hurt by livestock. Some cows are kickers.

When I was about 10, I was kicked in the stomach by a mule. The mule was at my cousins' house, and I had whacked it on the rump with a stick to get it to move. The kick knocked the wind out of me, and I gasped goodbye to my cousin Shari because I thought I was dying.

But if you are worried about our planned road trip through all the cowtowns in Ohio, just stay in the car and keep your earthquake helmet on.
 
You'd better count me in on this road trip. Cows chewing cud across state lines? Totally there.
 
Ouch! I get an 'ooooof' feeling just reading that. The car is taking more passengers, Madie! Goofy headgear is encouraged.
 
Lovely cow poem and comments - I tend to identify with the cow having some "wayward" limbs ...... could be just arthritis ? But I'll heed the warning. Thanks for a delightful poem Merry.
 
Yes reactive they say which of course it isn't - just part of the ME musculoskeletal legacy. Rereading this delightful poem it becomes even sweeter - even the cow don't know what she's going to do - having been caught up in a herd at milking time and escaped I know it well.
 
Sorry, Enid, now I remember that you told me about the arthritis diagnosis before. I'm slow.

Perhaps, since my brain doesn't work right, I may unexpectedly kick someone -- myself probably.

Any stories you have to share about cows would be most welcome.
 
Lovely Merry, I'm on the hunt for happy cows - always imagined myself like Ferdinand the Bull who only wanted to sit and smell the flowers anyway. !
 
Enid, the thought of you off to hunt for happy cows made me smile -- as did you comparing yourself to Ferdinand the Bull, who loves to sit and smell the flowers.

A few years ago Jon Katz wrote a column called "Rural Life" at the online magazine Slate. He was new to country life and began to collect livestock as pets. A neighbor offered to sell him a Brown Swiss steer named Elvis. Elvis loved people.

In an article called "What My 3,000-pound Steer Taught Me About Faith," Jon Katz wrote:

"I am finding in Elvis the spiritual life I have been searching for myself. A few months ago, I brought Elvis a volume of W.B. Yeats poems. I don't like poetry much, but I often read poems to Elvis, as he seems to love them, swishing his tail to keep the flies off his gargantuan butt. Elvis has his own rhythms. He is usually in the same place at the same time doing the same thingeating, mostlyevery day. I've read St. Augustine's City of God to him, some James Herriott, Merton, and Carl Sandburg, to appeal to his masculine side. I've read from C.S. Lewis' The Problem of Pain, and more recently, I climbed to the top of the hill and read from an anthology of haiku, which seemed appropriate for such a centered, easygoing creature.

"I read two or three Yeats poems to him and put the book down, and Elvis ate the paperback, almost inhaled it, really, and enjoyed it as much as any donut. . . ."
 
I've just been able to catch up after computer problems to find your very humerous piece by Jon Katz - Merry. Much enjoyed. Assume Elvis the steer is now highly educated and very wise after his good lunch. Yes I understand JK's simple pleasures and fondness for animals too.
 

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