My Little Poem: Holy Cattle

"Remembering that it happened once," by Wendell Berry

Hello, Poetry Friend

My deep existential problem over these last five years of memorizing poems has been which Wendell Berry poem should I choose? When I saw he had written this Christmas poem, I knew this would be the one.

Remembering that it happened once

Remembering that it happened once,
We cannot turn away the thought,
As we go out, cold, to our barns
Toward the long night's end, that we
Ourselves are living in the world
It happened in when it first happened,
That we ourselves, opening a stall
(A latch thrown open countless times
Before), might find them breathing there,
Foreknown: the Child bedded in straw,
The mother kneeling over Him,
The husband standing in belief
He scarcely can believe, in light
That lights them from no source we see,
An April morning's light, the air
Around them joyful as a choir.
We stand with one hand on the door,
Looking into another world
That is this world, the pale daylight
Coming just as before, our chores
To do, the cattle all awake,
Our own white frozen breath hanging
In front of us; and we are here
As we have never been before,
Sighted as not before, our place
Holy, although we knew it not.

– Wendell Berry

I live in ranching country. I know ranchers by name. (I do not know their cattle by name, but I know the way to where they graze.) Right now I’m picturing a rancher getting out of his truck, walking to a stall, opening a latch he’s opened countless times before and being surprised.

Berry’s poem has rhythm, but not formal rhythm. It reminds me of this rancher, two of his steps echoing each other, then he stops to inspect somthing, then he starts again and another two steps echo.

it happened in … it first happened

~

ourselves … ourselves

~

in belief … he scarcely can believe

~

That lights … April morning’s light

~

another world … That is this world

~

As we have never been before … Sighted as not before

These echoes make the poem easier to memorize. They’re like handholds and footholds on a climbing wall. And like those artificial rocks, they’re not always identical — belief/believe, lights/light — which somehow makes them more real.

The poem is two sentences: the first about what happened, the second about us. Because that is the tension we live in, between another world that is also this one. It’s Christmas. “We stand with one hand on the door.” What’s next? Our breath hangs frozen. Our place, right where we are, with the people and critters we’re with. Holy.

Poetry Journal

• Read Berry’s poem about the Holy Family in the stable. Notice the placement of the word “holy” in the poem.

• Jot down what you notice, what you like, what you don’t, what questions you have, and at least one way in which the poem speaks to you.

• Read the poem again, aloud (if you didn’t the first time). Is there anything you notice this time that you want to add to your journal?

• Write your own poem that includes cattle. Mine is at meganwillome.com. If you like, email me what you write.

Happy poeming!

Megan