Hanks ramblings!
        (Click on
        the links on the left to read)
        OUT on HANK'S TRAILS -
        The
        greatest piece of Cowboy literature is from Argentina, written
        in the 1870's as a farewell to the mythic freedoms of the Gaucho. 
        Martin Fierro was an epic poem in an ancient 12th Century Troubadour
        style. Here's a couple of verses about horse breaking beautifully
        translated by Walter (not Wilfred) Owen:
        The breaker in with a lissom stride
        Unbarred the stockyard gate
        And while he was fresh, picked the wildest flesh
        And threw him deft with the lasso's mesh
        And the colt would thrash in the swirling dust
        Like a thing of living hate.
        And there the gaucho edged him in
        And pinned the plunging head
        They saddled him quick and gave him a lick
        And the breaker swung to the saddle slick --
        Ah, those were the times when the gaucho showed
        The craft that is in him bred.
        And through the gap of the open gate
        Went thundering horse and man
        A batter of hoofs and a cloud of dust
        A flurry of fight and rage and lust
        And thrashing leather and raking spurs --
        Till he stretched his neck and ran.
        And here's
        another, finishing with a guitar battle challenge.  Gauchos
        would sing each other into the ground, battling in poetry rhythm
        and song, instead of using a knife --
        I sit me here to sing my song
        To the beat of my old guitar
        For the man whose life is a bitter cup
        With a song may yet his heart lift up
        As the lonely bird on the leafless tree
        That sings neath the gloaming star.
        With my mellow guitar across my knee
        The flies even give me room
        And the talk is stilled and the laugh and jest
        As I draw the notes from its sounding breast
        The high string sighs and the middles weep
        And the low strings mourn and boom.
        In a grassy hollow I'll sit me down
        And sing of the days long done
        Like the ancient wind that sighing goes
        Through the prairie grass I will sing my woes
        The hands I held and the cards I played
        And the stakes I lost and won.
        I am the best of my own at home
        And better than best afar
        I have won in song my right of place
        If any gainsay me -- face to face
        Let him come and better me song for song
        Guitar against guitar.
        © Jose Hernandez   "MARTIN FIERRO"