In a large semi-detached timber dwelling doubling as a restaurant, a patron has ordered something no longer on the menu. Verb. To hit someone with a horse. To run into someone with an old race horse with a royal title in its name e.g. prince queen. An old track horse put out to pasture and watched sentimentally by a stooped man with a yellow beard. Hit meaning pushed up against without serious intent, but not a brush ... less an accident or bang! The slash of white on the horse's head meeting with the middle of the chest. A good daub. The way people without hands learn to paint with their feet. Painting a horse with a slash of white chalk on its head. Riding a horse into a canvas to let the simple stable- man know which horses are 'out' and which are 'in' as far as the pasture goes. Old grass. You spat from your mouth and decided you couldn't live in the country or wondered whether an old race horse had pissed on this part of the paddock (the taste left in the mouth after you've eaten with a brand new spoon but forgotten to wash the cutlery). A sink full of cutlery. Dangerous as a frothy sink full of new knives. Cleaning dirty windows with an old sock.
29.0: PASTORAL
Poetry Editor Stuart CookeReleased December 2008
Index of Poems
Contributor Notes
Cover Image: David Prater
The second in another binary pairing, PASTORAL was meant to be Cordite's answer to SECRET CITIES but, with the introduction of open comments on the poetry in the issue, quickly transformed into a strange and captivating example of web 2.0 dialogue. Compelling, even.
Okay, I admit defeat! I just can't get a handle on what this poem is about.
I'm getting a feeling of someone- the “you” mentioned- trapped by their life in the country (like a penned in horse?). Things are out of kilter- even dangerous (the “sink full of new knives”).
But who's the man with the yellow beard? Why does the horse (the trapped person?) butt him with his blaze? Is this an expression of some sort of mute discontent against a seemingly idyllic scene?
There's something very intriguing here, and well done to the poet!
does it need to be about.
Hi 'any one',
Of course the poem doesn't need to be 'about' anything, but as Luke has agreed to open it for comments, I think Simon's is a legitimate question to ask. I personally would be very interested to find out what Luke (or anyone else for that matter) might actually have to say in response!
Thoughts?
I reckon it's about a drink called a racehorse. He's just riffed on it, Cordite-style. He doesn't feel very pastoral, but the absurdity is amusing. The drink doesn't taste good. I tried Googling this but could only come up with the Racehorse Julep. However, I associate it with a beer followed by straight spirits. Of course, that may be the smashed brain cells talking.
Perhaps it is ekphrasic this prosepoem. Paintings of racehorses are quite common in old country pub/restaurants. The poet may be the disappointed patron looking at the painting in a kind of cubist manner and infusing it with his emotion, then glancing into the kitchen and out the dirty window. The scene of the pub frames the ekphrasiac description of the painting. Hmm, the more I think about and read this poem, the more respect I have for it. A kind of hardened cycnical Australian tone and certainly a recognisably Australian scene.
Ok. I can't claim to be very good at interpreting poetry but I'll have a go. I think the racehorse in question is a joint of White Queen cannabis. The 'hit meaning' therefore is taking a hit. The slash of white meeting with the chest is the inhalation of smoke. But it's not fresh grass. It's an old joint that has been kept for a time and that's precisely how it tastes.