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In ancient
times, scribes were devotees of the Word. They were the
bridges between worlds, charged with the sacred task of
painstakingly transcribing the Mysteries into a form
that could be referenced by holy men and women. Many
centuries later, our modern journals give us unlimited
access to the Mysteries of our souls. Through this
column, I hope to offer ways that we can approach our
own lives with the love and devotion of the scribes of
old.
Cowboys, Roots and Poetry
I spent last weekend absorbed in one of my favorite
annual rituals: Arvada, Colorado’s Cowboy Poetry
Festival. Like Japanese haiku or African praise poems,
cowboy poetry is unique unto itself and the rodeo’in,
ranchin’, cowboyin’, rough-ridin’ traditions and
lifestyles that it documents and celebrates. Arvada is
my home town, the place where I grew up, where my mom
still lives in the house they bought for $17,000 in
1959.
This is the 13th year for the Cowboy
Poetry Festival, and I’ve been to every one, hooked
from the very first poem by roughstock rider Paul
Zarzyski ("rhymes with bar whiskey"):
Her Levis, so tight
I can read the dates on dimes
in her hip pocket. Miles City,
a rodeo Saturday night…..
Cowboy poetry connects me to my roots. This is the
poetry of the land where I was born, the land where I
still live, the land I love, the Old West. My Granddaddy
Bill was a working Colorado cowboy in the days following
Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders. In 1904, my
grandmother’s family set out across the Cherokee
Nation in the Oklahoma Territory to homestead 40 acres.
Although she was only two, Goggie always swore she
remembered the day her daddy died, thrown and drug by a
spooked horse. With two covered wagons and ten children,
my great-grandmother buried her husband at the side of
the road and mustered on alone. She eventually settled
in the southeastern tip of Colorado, where she raised
her family solo.
Poetry brought my grandparents together. Granddaddy
Bill penned a little romantic ditty, signed it, and
stuffed it in a crevice between the rocks at the top of
Two Buttes. Goggie, then 17, climbed Two Buttes one day
and found the poem. She thought it enchanting, and asked
around town until she found the handsome young cowboy
poet. They courted and married and birthed my mother, a
child of the prairie.
Legends abound in cowboy poetry: How the rocking,
sing-song tempo matched the cadence of the horse. How a
ballad crooned from the saddle lulled restless cattle
and soothed the loneliness of moonlit patrol. How the vaqueros
kept the old Spanish stories and traditions alive
through telling and retelling them around the fire. How
the ribald humor of the range was used to cool
overheated tempers and libidos. How the love poems
recited or scrawled by a timid suitor resulted in
weddings, babies and a spread of one’s own.
In his essay "Bards of the Bunkhouse,"
Eddie Nickens writes, "In its written form some
might call this poetry simplistic, unpolished. Like a
horse in need of a rider, however, these words need a
human voice to guide them, and when that voice is deft -
or gifted - the result is poetry of emotional clarity
and unabashed honesty that speaks eloquently to those
far removed from the cowboy experience."
Such a deft voice belongs to Dee Strickland Johnson,
"Buckshot Dot," who will open the National
Association for Poetry Therapy’s annual conference
(Denver, April 17-21) with an evening of high-spirited
cowboy "pomes." This one is among my
favorites. It brings to mind my grandmother’s stories
of her older sisters, for whom the tradition of
"box suppers" resulted in marriage. It seems
that in cowboy days, churches sponsored Sunday afternoon
socials for which girls of courtship age prepared their
best picnic meals and lavishly decorated the boxes
containing them. Eligible bachelors, particularly those
with their eye on a special young woman, used all powers
of deductive reasoning, gossip and bribery to learn
which box supper belonged to which lady. An auction
ensued, and a successful bid guaranteed the couple a
dinner date! Read this poem by "Buckshot Dot"
aloud, and turn your thoughts toward Colorado and our
NAPT home on the range.
Maverick
Love Affair
That
dang little maverick had strayed again,
and the boss sez to me, "Curly Black,
Put that calf with the herd before sundown;
it's your job to bring her back!"
She was down in the blackberry brambles;
and pickin' berries there
Was Jess Johnson's middle sized daughter,
and she had that pretty red hair
Tied back with a narrow ribbon --
light blue just like her eyes,
And before I got that calf out,
I was in for a big surprise.
She said, "There's a supper social
at the church tomorrow at three,
I thought you might be goin';
'course, it really don't matter to me."
Well, I hadn't been much at church goin',
but I sure was there on that day;
Why, a herd of stampedin' cattle
couldn't have kept me away!
Most of the boxes was fancy --
big flowers to make 'em go;
But one had just blackberry blossoms
tied up with a narrow blue bow.
I'd have bid my horse and saddle,
and I got that simple box --
Also Jess Johnson's daughter --
the one with the reddish locks.
Now here's little Blossom and Berry Black;
I think -- and I have to laugh
When I see their blue eyes and their curly red hair --
what I owe to that maverick calf!
--©
Dee
Strickland Johnson, "Buckshot Dot"
As President of the National Association for Poetry
Therapy, I warmly invite all poets, writers, healers and
lovers of words to join us in Denver for our annual
conference. "Buckshot Dot" will be
joined by keynote poet Naomi Shihab Nye who will present
both a poetry reading and a workshop to the full
session, as well as in international slate of the finest
trainers in poetry and journal therapy in the world. We
are especially pleased this year to be joined by Gillie
Bolton, one of Great Britain’s foremost voices in the
healing power of creative writing, by Dahlia Lorenz, the
first credentialed poetry therapist in Israel, and by
Patricia Rey Romano, who works in Bogota, Colombia with
"children of the violence." Don’t miss this
opportunity to immerse yourself in creative healing, to
write, to listen, to be moved and touched at depth.
©
Kathleen Adams. All Rights Reserved
Kathleen Adams LPC, RPT is a
Registered Poetry/Journal Therapist and Director of The
Center for Journal Therapy in Lakewood, Colorado. She is
one of the leading voices on the power of writing to
heal and is the author of four books, including Journal
to the Self and The Write Way to Wellness.
Her upcoming seminars include the annual 5-day women’s
writing retreat in Colorado July 8-13, and a one-day
Journal to the Self workshop in Denver in late July. She
would love your feedback on this column; please e-mail kay@journaltherapy.com
or stop by her website, www.journaltherapy.com.
Read
Kathleen's Past "Scribing the Soul" Columns:
January
2002 - "Poem of the Month"
December
2001 "Unseen Companions"
November
2001 "Families Writing"
October
2001 "Coping Strategies for Times of Crisis"
September
2001 "Journal of a Synchronicity"
August
2001 "Rituals for Soulful Writing"
July
2001 "A
Baker’s Dozen Ways to Journal Your Dreams"
April
2001 "Journals to Go"
March
2001 "Healing Words, Healing Touch: Jihan's Letters"
February
2001 "Love Letters"
January
2001 "Scribing
the Authentic Self"
December
2000 "Riding the Inky Wave"
November
2000 "The Good News"
October
2000 "Soul Food: Exploring Affirmations in
Writing"
September
2000 "Diary of a Headache"
August
2000 "Making Up the Truth"
July
2000 "Pockets of Joy"
June
2000 "Five Ways to Scribe Your Intuition"
Read
Kathleen's Feature Article on Dream Journals:
Writing
in the Dark: Cracking the Soul's Code Through Dream
Journals
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