Rider on the Rough String

rider on the rough string
(for Buck Ramsey)


“They’s nary a fuzztail has ever drawed breath
That I couldn’t savvy and ride him to death.”
“The Strawberry Roan”- Curley Fletcher

“...the souls of horses mirror the souls of men
more closely than men suppose...”
All the Pretty Horses - Cormac McCarthy



moving in the rhythms of earth,
blameless and unaccountable,
fall of hoof, heartbeat, flutter of breath and
something wild and irresistible
flashing along the pulse
drives the long stretch and fetch of muscle
a song composed in blood, earth,
and air singing itself under the sorrel hide

moving with the rhythms of earth,
blameless and unaccountable,
the brave spangle and jangle of silver
from boot heel and bit and
something wild and resolute
flashing along the pulse
drives give and take of rein,
pressure of leg, touch of spur, the quiet word
a bright strict music forged in sweat
and blood and the fires of intention
composing itself irrevocably,
sorrel, dun or bay

O, praise for the rough glee
in that sparring and jarring to natural purposes!

something wild and resonant
flashing along the pulse
in flex of haunch,
arch of loin,
bunch of forearm, gaskin,
the sharp descent of crest and poll
drives heaven suddenly near
in a bone collapsing rush
each cloud-hunt, casuey, rainbow, pinwheel
each warp of backbone,
wrinkle of spine
each extravagant squall and bawl
a vast and ancient hymn transcribed in air
set down in crescent glyphs on a tablet of dust

something wild and resonant
flashing along the pulse
in sparkle and darkle of silver,
slash of rowel, cut of rawhide quirt, bite of curb,
the bull-bat’s joyful hurrah
offered up to distance and the wide sky
drives hell deep into its leather hull
each cloud-hunt, casuey, rainbow, pinwheel
each warp of backbone, wrinkle of spine
each sudden stunning embrace of earth, blameless and unaccountable,
a violent Psalm to the eternity hidden behind each breath
ticked out in savage measure
on a range of wild blood, muscle, bone

O, pity for you whose blood is tame,
you who have always been so accountable
you who have heard not at all the Anthem
at the wild heart of the world—
I am one who frames its lyric

©Jeff Streeby