I Wrote Of Horses Poem by Indigo Hawkins
I Wrote Of Horses
and the smell of grain, a full-bodied musk
dull as sweaty leather saddles
but tantalizing as the taste of grass, fresh and
sharply saccharine.
lingering in a field of dry dirt,
belly bared to the sun, my fingers interwoven
with a tangled mane and my face
buried in fuzzy, dusty
warmth,
I remember how the heat permeated my body,
passed into the ground, and from there
drifted towards a ruddy horizon, fusing
the smells and the tastes and the touch
into an achingly tangible
intuition.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 9:50:54 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Oh, this is fabulous! I absolutely adore its textures, sensory telling, magic. I'm an absolute sucker for poems just like this - when a poet snatches a moment and lies it down on the page as perfectly and precisley as humanly possible. If you get it just right, as you have here, there is no need to do anything more than to slip in a single word or two (if any at all) to convey how you feel about that moment, how that moment made you feel. It's in the telling... as it should be, I think. I'd so much rather 'see' the moment through the poet's eyes than the poet in the moment - in the former, you get both, in the latter, I think, something (the wonder of it all) is missing. The whole of this is excellent... and the ending is absolutely divine. Love this! Christine