Buckaroo bards: the West's new breed of cowboy poets - includes related article

Sunset, Jan, 1994 by Jeff Phillips

The air was cracklin' with the cold, And the clouds were fixin' to snow. It was icy and late on the Interstate So I pulled off into old Elko. I rolled through town just to look around, But there wasn't much a-happenin' 'Til I took a wrong turn and ended up At a Cowboy Poetry Gatherin'.

It used to be that a degree in cowboying from the school of hard knocks required only mastery of the three Rs: ridin', ropin', and 'ranglin'. But if the unbridled success of the annual Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Elko, Nevada, is any indication, aspiring buckaroos may need to add a fourth R to their curriculum: recitin'.

Singing softly to cattle on the trail or telling tall tales around a campfire may come naturally to anyone who's twirled a rope for a living, but standing under bright lights in an auditorium and reciting poetry to a live audience is a relatively new experience for most buckaroo bards. While dozens of communities around the West have rustled up an impressive herd of cowboy poetry festivals and readings over the last few years, the Elko gathering, which is the granddaddy of them all, will celebrate its 10th anniversary this winter. Frigid weather didn't stop 8,000 people from attending last winter's gathering.

Why Elko, in January? "Elko is about as central as it gets for much of the West's working ranch country," says Hal Cannon, artistic director of Elko's Western Folklife Center, which sponsors the gathering. "Most cowboy poets are working ranchers, and winter is about the only time they can get away."

Cowboy poetry is a distinctive American literary form. According to Jim Griffith, coordinator of The Southwest Folklore Center at the University of Arizona in Tucson, the Victorian era's fascination with poetry traveled west with early English-speaking arrivals. The first cowboys learned their skills and borrowed many of their words from Mexican vaqueros (buckaroo is likely an Americanization of vaquero). By the height of the great cattle drives of the 1870s and '80s, the cowboys' rich vocabulary had been woven into rhyming story poems recited around the campfire.

The Elko gathering, January 25 through 30, features daytime poetry readings and seminars (a five-day pass costs $10; ages 12 and under free). You can also sign up for more than a dozen special workshops on subjects ranging from music and poetry writing to rawhide braiding and ranch cooking. Evening programs include music jamborees and a Western Family Dance. For a schedule and ticket order form, write to the Western Folklife Center, Box 888, Elko 89803.

Last year, local motels were sold out. For trip-planning help, call the Elko Chamber of Commerce at (702) 738-7135.

If you can't make it to the gathering, pick up a copy of Buckaroo: Visions and Voices of the American Cowboy, edited by Hal Cannon (Simon & Schuster/Callaway Editions, New York, 1993; $45). This lush 128-page book includes a 50-minute compact disc of recorded poems and music by 16 artists. Another good collection is Cowboy Poetry: A Gathering, edited by Hal Cannon (Gibbs M. Smith, Salt Lake City, 1985; $12). Both are available at bookstores or through the Western Folklife Center.

Four poets talk about their lives and verse

Jack Walther

"In my opinion, it's no compliment to be called a cowboy," growls Jack Walther over a cup of coffee. "I'm either a rancher or a buckaroo. A buckaroo is a man who works with cattle. In my day a cowboy was more of a playboy."

Born in Elko in 1919, Walther has spent most of his life ranching within a long day's horseback ride of the town. "I've got a more compact ranch now," he admits with a grin, "but I don't expect to retire any day soon. There's something good about working with your hands that I still enjoy."

A traditionalist to the core, Walther began writing poetry in the 1950s, "but I didn't tell anybody." His work echoes themes repeated around campfires from the first cattle drives. "True cowboy poetry can't be taught," insists Walther. "It's folklore that comes from personal experience. My inspiration comes from people and animals."

On the road to our mailbox Stands a barn that we pass by. It looks so sad and lonely, One can almost hear it cry.

The front doors can't be opened For they have settled in the ground. A few short years ago This barn was strong and sound.

In this barn at haying time Were harnessed many teams. Some not too gentle were Tied to strong manger beams.

When waiting for a rain to pass Men would tell a tale or two, Sitting there by the saddle room. Old barn you have heard a few.

No more will a bronc set back And make the timbers squeak. No more will it save a calf That comes in cold and weak.

Like you, old barn, times have passed me by And all I have left is dreams. We both have passed our useful days When machinery replaced the teams.

(Excerpted from "The Old Horse Barn")

Hank Real Bird

When Hank Real Bird, a Crow Indian cowboy from the O-W Ranch in the Rosebud Mountains of Montana, reads his poetry, his right hand speaks a form of sign language--pushing his words, keeping the rhythm of his thoughts, and drawing his listeners into his visions of his land and people.