On a hot summer's day, there's a quiet serenity associated with cows that's almost sacred.
Ted Hughes certainly thought so, describing them when lying down in a herd as a ruined holy city, each a fragment of temple, almost unearthly, 'as if a ray from heaven still rested across their brows.'
A remarkable reflection from a definitely unsentimental poet, which resonates with a similarly unexpected response in an entirely different medium over two hundred years later from the composer Haydn.
In his oratorio The Creation, Haydn uses Raphael to tell us how on the sixth day God created the creatures, focusing on a representative selection. He begins with the lion and then moves on to tiger, stag, horse, cattle, sheep, insects and worms – each musically illustrated. Haydn introduces cattle beautifully with one of his loveliest melodies.
So I find myself in good company when I am moved – or should I say settled – by their noble tranquillity bordering on holiness.
Cows
In the brightness of day they are drawn to the water
each to her own her image awaits.
The river is full of many pictures.
They stand in the water, lean forward to drink
and find their other selves. Drops fall
in confrontation and faces dissolve.
From the flow of the water the cattle return
single once more, now shining wetly
after communion, no longer thirsty.
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