Elko & the NEA

It’s a hostile environment in Washington where no politician wants to be blamed for increasing the federal deficit to $14 trillion by voting for the $3.7 trillion budget before them.

Nevada’s Senator Harry Reid, in a recent plea for the National Endowment for the Humanities, used the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering as an example of good sponsorship that has subsequently fired the ire of both conservatives and liberals, but won’t bring consensus in any meaningful way. Though Reid misspoke slightly by saying, “The National Endowment of the Humanities is the reason we have in northern Nevada every January a cowboy poetry festival. Had that program not been around, the tens of thousands of people who come there every year would not exist.” We know what he meant, and we know what the Gathering has meant to each of us and the community of Elko for the past 27 years.

Eliminating NEH and the National Endowment for the Arts, budgeted for around $124 million, won’t balance the books – a drop in the bucket where over a $1 trillion has been spent on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan since 2001, where the current Defense Budget is over $500 billion. In the scheme of things, the NEH stands at less than .00003% of the FY2011 Federal Budget.

Long a measure of economic health, we are suffering the consequences of too much growth, a collapsed, debt-driven growth requiring nearly $5 trillion to bailout our economy.  The National Endowment for the Humanities was not the cause, nor is its amputation from the budget a solution.

In hard times, our focus becomes especially short term, looking to cut where we can to get-by, but never really dealing with the issues, now more emotional than ever, that created our problems. If ever there were a time to take the longer view, it is now. As for the arts and humanity, a little more of both would serve us all well.

SHORT FLIGHTS

I write to you hoping that I may lift
my weight upon the wings of words –
find an updraft, ride another aspect

arising from this righteous earth,
its rocks and rills, its well-worn dirt
beyond these walls we’ve built

to keep us safe and separate from
its wild designs – real art at work.
My selfish exercise, thinking

it might dispel despair for us both
to ride upon a buzz of words and
pulsing sounds to find ourselves

among the hawks, for an instant –
forgetting fear or finding new
looking through another set of eyes.

AFTERTHOUGHT

With wood, the artist within
created hollow log-ends
from fragrant cedar fascia,

an extra to match office to house –
O’ how the black night sings
at the corners in a storm, now

her voice reverberates, rising
on the wind, as I write, passing
from passion to wilder extremes.

The timbers ache and crack
as she screams like a lioness
pleading with her world within

earshot – to give her space and
a prince to quench her thirst – all
upon a carpenter’s afterthought.

                                    – for Tod Johnson

Buckeyes & Heifers

With plenty of moisture, the winter buckeye balls have germinated and taken root beneath the trees in Greasy. Most won’t survive the summer sun. Branding the last bunch of calves this a.m. Hallelujah!

Sampling of yearling heifers bred to the Wagyu bulls, Snake River Farms, to begin calving mid-August.

PANTHEISTIC AFFAIR

Fog upon the creek, a low cloud
clings to sycamores without leaves
beneath dark emerald hills at dawn.

Naked limbs emerge after a night’s
rain, then alternately withdraw as if
dancing with an undulating throng

secreted within a gray veil, a pantheistic
affair – a steamy, primeval revisiting
of First Light and the creation of things.

Strange new world and fresh beginning,
our pristine hope inhabited by others,
jubilant for an instant – but not quite like us

as the cloud moves upstream, leaving
their tangle frozen outside my mind –
as the creek mumbles me back to life.

AT THE FORGE

We have hammered-out forgiveness,
made it malleable upon the anvil, until
our last strokes ring no more of blame

and we are free to forge our own
self-reliance. We can choose
the shape of it, etch baroque design,

inlay silver, or let wear speak for itself,
quietly. Some will never feel the wild
clutch and release – be never tested

and yet well-made to hang on walls,
glint in parades and be called art – but
best to hold them all on a loose rein.

                                                for Joe Bruce & Merlyn

IMPERFECTIONS

No telling how the Sierras leak
along the granite cracks and fissures
over ranges and across canyons

to make a seep and fill a trough
for all nearby – button willow, buckeye.
Along as many imperfections as

cracked glass, cobwebbed beneath
this thin coat of clay cut by seams
of shale. Old timers claimed it took

a year for snow to recharge springs
gone dry, a slowing leak downhill
in droughts. Some move around,

pool up or down canyon with the shifting
of the fractured while others become camp
sites, wild tracks in mud, gossip rocks

carved with stone, places with names
for centuries, stories come and gone
where cattle drink, make their homes.

THE DISCONNECT

Somehow, all the smart men forgot
that the only measure of our health is not
GROWTH, that maintenance of the body

is not only necessary, but creates jobs.
It is arrogance, of course, that manifest
DESTINY, that old code of the West

to build another somewhere else, appears
prosperous as the old digs crumble. It is a
GAME, these graphs and long equations

plugged with values damn few share.
There’s plenty of work everywhere you
LOOK! Why make repairs disastrous?

OUR MAN IN COMMON

We are encouraged by storms
along the Mediterranean, thunderous
footsteps, masses of legs tangled with torsos

and arms waving, reaching beyond
rejuvenated eyes on the shores of Cairo
and Tripoli – encouraged by humanity.

The earth has quaked, floods have become
a work-in-progress – some ranges rise
while other mountains melt into farms.

This sun illuminates an instant age
of transparency – where secrets sell quickly,
and information cheap for Everyman

reaching for a dream. The despots fall
like fences under hoof as the herd
grazes fresh feed for a little while.

Low Snow

Sulphur Peak


Greasy Creek

6:30 a.m. – 35 degrees, .81″ rain overnight, since Thursday, .94″, season 18.70″