On the student Cafe forum of the creative writing course I'm doing on the OU I received this response to the stroy I'd posted up 'A tale of Bovine Love' which I posted previously on here. I had to share it with as many folks as I could because it just made me laugh and then smile for hours. Here you go then.
Hi Richard
I'm standing in a wilderness here, looking for a cow, and there are none to be seen. I have to tell you Richard that that there have been times in my life when I have been so desperate and low, that any old cow would have done; I fortified myself with the notion that I didn't even have to love the cow, because Richard I can confide in you that love is a concept that has brought chains to my soul. Love stands you on the edge of an abyss and says jump these chains will hold you firm. But RIchard the number of times I have hit the bottom of that abyss breaking myself into a thousand bloodied pieces of grizzle, bone, and torn skin, and yes, vomit, and I'm not ashamed to admit that, and yet the only thing that was still in tact, still gleaming in the few rays of daylight that filtered down, were those chains. They were untouched by the fall. They still cut into my broken heavy soul, and Richard I knew that the weight of those chains would never let me climb back up to the sunlight. I knew that if I was to save myself I would have to abandon my chained up soul. I would have to leave it where it lay, in chains, in the dark, abandoned forever. It had become too heavy for one person to bear alone.
Richard I have been inspired by your allegoric tale of Sapphic Love. However by the posts I fear that you may have encoded it a little too much because a lot of people really do think that you are writing about cows. Yes Richard I know what you are thinking, you can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink. And I am sorry to have introduced new elements of the bovine, which may confuse them even more.
However I digress, I note with delight that not content two test one of the sexual taboos of middle class England, you have successfully catered for the sado-masochistic community with your description of barbed wire cutting deeply - I reread that line several times as I found it deeply satisfying, thank you.
Your next triumph was the metaphysical reference to the futility of birth, bravo. With your natural economy of language you have encapsulated one of lives great mysteries; why are we born? By turning the van into a womb, from which new life is disgorged, and that new life is already close to disgorging its own new life you have squared the circle of life, excellent.
Finally you have had the courage to comment on the pathos of Sapphic entanglements when you took the moral high ground and demonstrated that true love will only ever be achieved in hetrosexual communion when you symbolically had the Man walking off with the cow/sapphic partner and in a perfect biblical flourish you write of silence as man and cow are reunited in perfect harmony. Richard take a bow.
Strangely, your best line was not to be found in your piece, but consigned to a post script. I prefer cows to people you get into a lot less trouble eating them. I could not have put it better myself.
Regards John
Monday 21 November 2011
Saturday 19 November 2011
A bovine love story
This was written for cafe three zero as a bit of an excercise, don't ask where it came from I have no idea.
The silty streambed pulls at my feet, I have to pull hard against the vacuum to keep moving. It feels as though the ground itself is trying to stop me getting through. A loose strand of barbed wire snags my shin, pulls a deep cut but the only thought I have is to get to her, look into her eyes and know I am loved.
I use the term love so you can understand some of what we feel. I heard the Man and his Mate talking about love a few moons ago. They had been by the gate, on the other side. She had stopped her car and stood, a defeated look about her. The bond between them had been growing steadily weaker over the last few weeks, you could see it in the way he didn't follow her with his gaze any more. You could see it in the way she followed him with hers but it was his back that bore the heavy weight of her silent need. Sometimes the soul becomes too heavy for one person to bear on their own, she longed for some lightening of her load but he didn't see it.
She stopped the car and stood waiting, he finally acknowledged the power in her stare and was drawn to her, she said something and it was as if the weight she had borne was transferred to his back. She wasn't happy yet but she was unburdened. She drove slowly away down the hedged lane, his eyes never left her.
Since then he has treated us differently. The care has gone from his heart, replaced by that image I think. She had said 'You don't love me any more. You say you do but... but I don't think you still know how to, or why.' Love was what she had called the bond they used to have. We don't name it, we just know it.
She had arrived the day after the Man's mate left. She'd stumbled into our field from the van, already pregnant and obviously terrified. I'd run over to her to give her the usual tour; 'That corner has the sick grass, this bit of the bank by the stream is slippy, the farmhouse up there at the top of the stream is where the Man lives. This is where our food comes.' but as I reached her I looked into her eyes and was lost. We were sistermotherdaughterloverfriend. I took the weight of her fear and she looked back into me, thanking me silently. From then on we were together. We ate, lowed, played and slept together. Her children were mine and mine hers, we were the same cow and our lives were so much the lighter for it. The others understood. It is rare for this to happen but it does and no-one could be unhappy for us. Except the Man. I think he felt it and was jealous. Over many months he treated us gradually more and more differently to the others, we were always the last to be fed, first for tagging. Finally he seperated us. Put us in adjacent fields. If anything it strengthened our bond. All we ever needed was to be able to look into each other's eyes and we were bouyed up again.
This afternoon he took her.
He came for the Annual collection and took her. It wasn't her time. They only take the old ones but he couldn't live with the love we had and he took her. We all know where they go. The shed by the stream. We hear them lowing until we don't hear it any more. This time he left them for hours. I could hear her over the others. My one spark of hope. One by one the other voices stopped. All the while I ould hear her, comforting me. I called back. Eventually hers was the only voice left. He came out and looked over the fields and I know he was looking for me. I called to let him know where I was, to tell her we would always be joined. He turned his back and walked to the shed.
Now I'm walking up the stream, calling, calling so as not to hear the silence. The others watch silently knowing I only see her eyes.
The silty streambed pulls at my feet, I have to pull hard against the vacuum to keep moving. It feels as though the ground itself is trying to stop me getting through. A loose strand of barbed wire snags my shin, pulls a deep cut but the only thought I have is to get to her, look into her eyes and know I am loved.
I use the term love so you can understand some of what we feel. I heard the Man and his Mate talking about love a few moons ago. They had been by the gate, on the other side. She had stopped her car and stood, a defeated look about her. The bond between them had been growing steadily weaker over the last few weeks, you could see it in the way he didn't follow her with his gaze any more. You could see it in the way she followed him with hers but it was his back that bore the heavy weight of her silent need. Sometimes the soul becomes too heavy for one person to bear on their own, she longed for some lightening of her load but he didn't see it.
She stopped the car and stood waiting, he finally acknowledged the power in her stare and was drawn to her, she said something and it was as if the weight she had borne was transferred to his back. She wasn't happy yet but she was unburdened. She drove slowly away down the hedged lane, his eyes never left her.
Since then he has treated us differently. The care has gone from his heart, replaced by that image I think. She had said 'You don't love me any more. You say you do but... but I don't think you still know how to, or why.' Love was what she had called the bond they used to have. We don't name it, we just know it.
She had arrived the day after the Man's mate left. She'd stumbled into our field from the van, already pregnant and obviously terrified. I'd run over to her to give her the usual tour; 'That corner has the sick grass, this bit of the bank by the stream is slippy, the farmhouse up there at the top of the stream is where the Man lives. This is where our food comes.' but as I reached her I looked into her eyes and was lost. We were sistermotherdaughterloverfriend. I took the weight of her fear and she looked back into me, thanking me silently. From then on we were together. We ate, lowed, played and slept together. Her children were mine and mine hers, we were the same cow and our lives were so much the lighter for it. The others understood. It is rare for this to happen but it does and no-one could be unhappy for us. Except the Man. I think he felt it and was jealous. Over many months he treated us gradually more and more differently to the others, we were always the last to be fed, first for tagging. Finally he seperated us. Put us in adjacent fields. If anything it strengthened our bond. All we ever needed was to be able to look into each other's eyes and we were bouyed up again.
This afternoon he took her.
He came for the Annual collection and took her. It wasn't her time. They only take the old ones but he couldn't live with the love we had and he took her. We all know where they go. The shed by the stream. We hear them lowing until we don't hear it any more. This time he left them for hours. I could hear her over the others. My one spark of hope. One by one the other voices stopped. All the while I ould hear her, comforting me. I called back. Eventually hers was the only voice left. He came out and looked over the fields and I know he was looking for me. I called to let him know where I was, to tell her we would always be joined. He turned his back and walked to the shed.
Now I'm walking up the stream, calling, calling so as not to hear the silence. The others watch silently knowing I only see her eyes.
Thursday 10 November 2011
Published Author.
Woohoo. Am now an officially published Author. Tales from the Cafe Volume One. Published by Cafe Three Zero is now available from all good ebook sellers including Amazon, smashwords and itunes. Less than 5p a story. We need reviews please if any of you lovely people would be so kind.
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