Rhymes of the Ranges - Softcover

Kiskaddon, Bruce

 
9781423620679: Rhymes of the Ranges

Synopsis

Bruce Kiskaddon (1878-1950) is America's premier cowboy poet. Far from any Hollywood image, his poems, which were written for cowboys, have a ring of truth that makes them accessible to everyone. Rhymes of the Range is illustrated with drawings by Katherine Field, Kiskaddon's original illustrator.

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About the Author

Hal Cannon was the first director of the Western Folklife Center in Elko, Nevada, and founder of the Elko Cowboy Poetry Gathering. He lives in Salt Lake City.

From the Back Cover

A new collection of poems by America s premier cowboy poet.

Bruce Kiskaddon was born in Pennsylvania, later moving to the Southwest where he worked on off for cow and horse outfits. Seeking the fame and fortune of Hollywood, he spent the last 25 years of his life as a bellhop in Los Angeles hotels. Between calls, he sat in the corner of the lobby with a stubby pencil in hand and opened up a world of memory of the cow, the camp, horses, and open land. He may have carried bags for Roy Rogers, John Wayne, Gene Autry, or Ronald Reagan, but his words will live more profoundly than any of theirs as a document of the American cowboy.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The Bunk House Mirror

That old bunk house mirror that most of us knew. I remember it yet, and I know that you do. One corner broke out, and sort of a crack That run half way across and a quarter way back. The cheap wooden frame with the varnish all gone, But the grease and the dirt and the fly specks stayed on.

And then the quicksilver was missin'' in spots, But that didn''t bother a cow hand a lot. He picked the good places and managed to shave As he looked at his face in the ripples and waves, No wonder the mirror was terribly wrecked When you thought of the faces it had to reflect.

And the comb that hung down from a string underneath. It was chuck full of gum though it lacked a few teeth. And there on the bench was a rusty wash pan Where we smeared yeller soap on our faces and hands. The bosses them days didn''t go fer expense. You could buy the whole outfit fer ninety five cents.

But boy let me tell you that old lookin'' glass Has reflected the faces of men with a past. I wonder it didn''t back up with surprise If it read what was lurkin'' just back of their eyes. I will bet there''s a lot of old hands can recall The battered old mirror that hung on the wall.

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