There were a few dozen who occupied the field
across the road from where we lived,
stepping all day from tuft to tuft,
their big heads down in the soft grass,
though I would sometimes pass a window
and look out to see the field suddenly empty
as if they had taken wing, flown off to another country.
Then later, I would open the blue front door,
and again the field would be full of their munching
or they would be lying down
on the black-and-white maps of their sides,
facing in all directions, waiting for rain.
How mysterious, how patient and dumbfounded
they appear in the long quiet of the afternoon.
But every once in a while, one of them
would let out a sound so phenomenal
that I would put down the paper
or the knife I was cutting an apple with
and walk across the road to the stone wall
to see which one of them was being torched
or pierced through the side with a long spear.
Yes, it sounded like pain until I could see
the noisy one, anchored there on all fours,
her neck outstretched, her bellowing head
laboring upward as she gave voice
to the rising, full-bodied cry
that began in the darkness of her belly
and echoed up through her bowed ribs into her gaping mouth.
Then I knew that she was only announcing
the large, unadulterated cowness of herself,
pouring out the ancient apologia of her kind
to all the green fields and the gray clouds,
to the limestone hills and the inlet of the blue bay,
while she regarded my head and shoulders
above the wall with one wild, shocking eye.
I did some research on Irish Cows, because I was really interested in Billy Collins title for this poem. A well known type of Irish Cow is a Dexter. Dexters are believed to be a cross between a Kerry cow and a Devon. A large portion of Dexter cows were imported into America between 1905 and 1915. They tend to be very small, as far as cow standards go, and are known for their gently and easy-to-handle nature. They do well in all types of weather, and are known for being very fertile.
I love that you posted this poem. This was one of my favorite Billy Collins poem as well. I also like the pictures you put in there. It adds even more to the humor of the poem (at least for me). I especially like the line that reads, "Then I knew she was only announcing the large, unadulterated cowness of herself," it made me laugh out loud when I read it the first time and still makes a tiny giggle escape my throat when I read it now. The research that you have done is very interesting. But it makes me wonder why Collins choose to use "large, unadulterated cowness" if the Irish cow is not very large.
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