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The Cows
"You read Lydia Davis to watch a writer patiently divide the space between epiphany and actual human beings by first halves, then quarters, then eighths, and then sixteenths, into infinity," says The Village Voice. Indeed, Lydia Davis is mathematician, philosopher, sculptor, jeweler, and scholar of the minute. Few writers map the process of thought as well as she, few perceive with such charged intelligence.
The Cows is a close study of the three much-loved cows that live across the road from her. The piece, written with understated humor and empathy, is a series of detailed observations of the cows on different days and in different positions, moods, and times of the day. It could be compared to some sections of Wallace Stevens' "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" or to Claude Monet's paintings of Rouen Cathedral.
Forms of play: head butting; mounting, either at the back or at the front; trotting away by yourself; trotting together; going off bucking and prancing by yourself; resting your head and chest on the ground until they notice and trot toward you; circling each other; taking the position for head-butting and then not doing it.
***
She moos toward the wooded hills behind her, and the sound comes back. She moos in a high falsetto before the note descends abruptly, or she moos in a falsetto that does not descend. It is a very small sound to come from such a large, dark animal.
The Cows is a close study of the three much-loved cows that live across the road from her. The piece, written with understated humor and empathy, is a series of detailed observations of the cows on different days and in different positions, moods, and times of the day. It could be compared to some sections of Wallace Stevens' "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" or to Claude Monet's paintings of Rouen Cathedral.
Forms of play: head butting; mounting, either at the back or at the front; trotting away by yourself; trotting together; going off bucking and prancing by yourself; resting your head and chest on the ground until they notice and trot toward you; circling each other; taking the position for head-butting and then not doing it.
***
She moos toward the wooded hills behind her, and the sound comes back. She moos in a high falsetto before the note descends abruptly, or she moos in a falsetto that does not descend. It is a very small sound to come from such a large, dark animal.
38 pages, Paperback
First published March 29, 2011
10 people are currently reading
971 people want to read
About the author
Lydia Davis
352 books1,467 followersLydia Davis, acclaimed fiction writer and translator, is famous in literary circles for her extremely brief and brilliantly inventive short stories. In fall 2003 she received one of 25 MacArthur Foundation “Genius” awards. In granting the award the MacArthur Foundation praised Davis’s work for showing “how language itself can entertain, how all that what one word says, and leaves unsaid, can hold a reader’s interest. . . . Davis grants readers a glimpse of life’s previously invisible details, revealing new sources of philosophical insights and beauty.” In 2013 She was the winner of the Man Booker International prize.
Davis’s recent collection, “Varieties of Disturbance” (May 2007), was featured on the front cover of the “Los Angeles Times Book Review” and garnered a starred review from “Publishers Weekly.” Her “Samuel Johnson Is Indignant” (2001) was praised by “Elle” magazine for its “Highly intelligent, wildly entertaining stories, bound by visionary, philosophical, comic prose—part Gertrude Stein, part Simone Weil, and pure Lydia Davis.”
Davis is also a celebrated translator of French literature into English. The French government named her a Chevalier of the Order of Arts and Letters for her fiction and her distinguished translations of works by Maurice Blanchot, Pierre Jean Jouve, Michel Butor and others.
Davis recently published a new translation (the first in more than 80 years) of Marcel Proust’s masterpiece, “Swann’s Way” (2003), the first volume of Proust’s “In Search of Lost Time.” A story of childhood and sexual jealousy set in fin de siecle France, “Swann’s Way” is widely regarded as one of the most important literary works of the 20th century.
The “Sunday Telegraph” (London) called the new translation “A triumph [that] will bring this inexhaustible artwork to new audiences throughout the English-speaking world.” Writing for the “Irish Times,” Frank Wynne said, “What soars in this new version is the simplicity of language and fidelity to the cambers of Proust’s prose… Davis’ translation is magnificent, precise.”
Davis’s previous works include “Almost No Memory” (stories, 1997), “The End of the Story” (novel, 1995), “Break It Down” (stories, 1986), “Story and Other Stories” (1983), and “The Thirteenth Woman” (stories, 1976).
Grace Paley wrote of “Almost No Memory” that Lydia Davis is the kind of writer who “makes you say, ‘Oh, at last!’—brains, language, energy, a playfulness with form, and what appears to be a generous nature.” The collection was chosen as one of the “25 Favorite Books of 1997” by the “Voice Literary Supplement” and one of the “100 Best Books of 1997” by the “Los Angeles Times.”
Davis first received serious critical attention for her collection of stories, “Break It Down,” which was selected as a finalist for the PEN/Hemingway Award. The book’s positive critical reception helped Davis win a prestigious Whiting Writer’s Award in 1988.
She is the daughter of Robert Gorham Davis and Hope Hale Davis. From 1974 to 1978 Davis was married to Paul Auster, with whom she has a son, Daniel Auster. Davis is currently married to painter Alan Cote, with whom she has a son, Theo Cote. She is a professor of creative writing at University at Albany, SUNY.
Davis is considered hugely influential by a generation of writers including Jonathan Franzen, David Foster Wallace and Dave Eggers, who once wrote that she "blows the roof off of so many of our assumptions about what constitutes short fiction."
Davis’s recent collection, “Varieties of Disturbance” (May 2007), was featured on the front cover of the “Los Angeles Times Book Review” and garnered a starred review from “Publishers Weekly.” Her “Samuel Johnson Is Indignant” (2001) was praised by “Elle” magazine for its “Highly intelligent, wildly entertaining stories, bound by visionary, philosophical, comic prose—part Gertrude Stein, part Simone Weil, and pure Lydia Davis.”
Davis is also a celebrated translator of French literature into English. The French government named her a Chevalier of the Order of Arts and Letters for her fiction and her distinguished translations of works by Maurice Blanchot, Pierre Jean Jouve, Michel Butor and others.
Davis recently published a new translation (the first in more than 80 years) of Marcel Proust’s masterpiece, “Swann’s Way” (2003), the first volume of Proust’s “In Search of Lost Time.” A story of childhood and sexual jealousy set in fin de siecle France, “Swann’s Way” is widely regarded as one of the most important literary works of the 20th century.
The “Sunday Telegraph” (London) called the new translation “A triumph [that] will bring this inexhaustible artwork to new audiences throughout the English-speaking world.” Writing for the “Irish Times,” Frank Wynne said, “What soars in this new version is the simplicity of language and fidelity to the cambers of Proust’s prose… Davis’ translation is magnificent, precise.”
Davis’s previous works include “Almost No Memory” (stories, 1997), “The End of the Story” (novel, 1995), “Break It Down” (stories, 1986), “Story and Other Stories” (1983), and “The Thirteenth Woman” (stories, 1976).
Grace Paley wrote of “Almost No Memory” that Lydia Davis is the kind of writer who “makes you say, ‘Oh, at last!’—brains, language, energy, a playfulness with form, and what appears to be a generous nature.” The collection was chosen as one of the “25 Favorite Books of 1997” by the “Voice Literary Supplement” and one of the “100 Best Books of 1997” by the “Los Angeles Times.”
Davis first received serious critical attention for her collection of stories, “Break It Down,” which was selected as a finalist for the PEN/Hemingway Award. The book’s positive critical reception helped Davis win a prestigious Whiting Writer’s Award in 1988.
She is the daughter of Robert Gorham Davis and Hope Hale Davis. From 1974 to 1978 Davis was married to Paul Auster, with whom she has a son, Daniel Auster. Davis is currently married to painter Alan Cote, with whom she has a son, Theo Cote. She is a professor of creative writing at University at Albany, SUNY.
Davis is considered hugely influential by a generation of writers including Jonathan Franzen, David Foster Wallace and Dave Eggers, who once wrote that she "blows the roof off of so many of our assumptions about what constitutes short fiction."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 90 reviews
April 18, 2011
This book is about the cows that live across the street from Lydia Davis. The cows do not stand for anything. They are not metaphors. They are cows.
July 26, 2025
Each new day, when they come out from the far side of the barn, it is like the next act, or the start of an entirely new play. They amble out from the far side of the barn with their rhythmic, graceful walk, and it is an occasion, like the start of a parade.
Três vacas, com direito a várias fotografias, são as improváveis protagonistas desta história de Lydia Davis. É realmente preciso ser-se boa contista para se conseguir manter o interesse durante 45 páginas, sendo o tema tão despretensioso, e tornar estas personagens mais caricatas do que aparentam ser. O modo como a autora descreve os movimentos e a interacção dos três animais que vê da janela e da vedação fá-lo parecer quase um bizarro bailado.
Their attention is complete, as they look across the road: They are still, and face us. Just because they are so still, their attitude seems philosophical.
Três vacas, com direito a várias fotografias, são as improváveis protagonistas desta história de Lydia Davis. É realmente preciso ser-se boa contista para se conseguir manter o interesse durante 45 páginas, sendo o tema tão despretensioso, e tornar estas personagens mais caricatas do que aparentam ser. O modo como a autora descreve os movimentos e a interacção dos três animais que vê da janela e da vedação fá-lo parecer quase um bizarro bailado.
Their attention is complete, as they look across the road: They are still, and face us. Just because they are so still, their attitude seems philosophical.
December 18, 2014
Too short.
Of course.
************
(okay, that was a bit of a cop-out. I love short books and short reviews.)
I liked that she just captured the serenity of cow-gazing. Gazing at cows, being gazed at by cows.
It is all very in the moment, "mindfulness" I think is the current term. It was a literary equivalent of a prescriptive nature exposure -- being out 'in nature', such as a park etc., for even just a few minutes a day, is good for the mental health.
It was a good and restful piece to read at lunchtime in the office.
It reminds one that just zoning out and enjoying our surroundings is something to do more often.
Of course.
************
(okay, that was a bit of a cop-out. I love short books and short reviews.)
I liked that she just captured the serenity of cow-gazing. Gazing at cows, being gazed at by cows.
It is all very in the moment, "mindfulness" I think is the current term. It was a literary equivalent of a prescriptive nature exposure -- being out 'in nature', such as a park etc., for even just a few minutes a day, is good for the mental health.
It was a good and restful piece to read at lunchtime in the office.
It reminds one that just zoning out and enjoying our surroundings is something to do more often.
Read
August 7, 2019Accurate Text Paired with Inaccurate Images
Another absolutely precise exercise in writing and observation, this time on an intentionally undramatic subject, three cows across the street from Davis's house. For me, the interest is in observing the faint remnants of other kinds of writing hovering around the nearly clean skeletons of her descriptions. A touch of surrealism, some thoughts about animal rights, reminders of detective stories, New England transcendentalism... the paragraphs aren't pure in the sense that haikus can occasionally appear to be. (Thinking of Barthes's notes for his novel.)
I am not as happy with the pictures, because they are so loosely correlated with the text. Why can't a writer as exacting as Davis demand the same of her images? On a page where the prose insists that she sees the cows only from a great distance and through a restricted angle of view, we get a photo of cows taken from the edge of their pasture. The difference is not made into a theme, either in the text (which doesn't acknowledge the viewpoint of the photos), or in the photos (which shift without rhyme or reason from telephoto to close-up). It makes images seem weak: it appears it's not right to request too much of them. I think the opposite.
(Update: in 2012 I talked to Davis, and she read this note; she said the images were true to the way she'd observed them. We talked in her house, looking at the cows in question. I don't doubt what she said, but I wonder about how precision is to be understood when it varies so widely from text to images. A relative looseness in the treatment of images, in authors very exacting about their prose, is a common trait in contemporary writing with images.)
Another absolutely precise exercise in writing and observation, this time on an intentionally undramatic subject, three cows across the street from Davis's house. For me, the interest is in observing the faint remnants of other kinds of writing hovering around the nearly clean skeletons of her descriptions. A touch of surrealism, some thoughts about animal rights, reminders of detective stories, New England transcendentalism... the paragraphs aren't pure in the sense that haikus can occasionally appear to be. (Thinking of Barthes's notes for his novel.)
I am not as happy with the pictures, because they are so loosely correlated with the text. Why can't a writer as exacting as Davis demand the same of her images? On a page where the prose insists that she sees the cows only from a great distance and through a restricted angle of view, we get a photo of cows taken from the edge of their pasture. The difference is not made into a theme, either in the text (which doesn't acknowledge the viewpoint of the photos), or in the photos (which shift without rhyme or reason from telephoto to close-up). It makes images seem weak: it appears it's not right to request too much of them. I think the opposite.
(Update: in 2012 I talked to Davis, and she read this note; she said the images were true to the way she'd observed them. We talked in her house, looking at the cows in question. I don't doubt what she said, but I wonder about how precision is to be understood when it varies so widely from text to images. A relative looseness in the treatment of images, in authors very exacting about their prose, is a common trait in contemporary writing with images.)
March 6, 2014
Int booker award 2013
To find Ordered
Opening: EACH NEW DAY, when they come out from the far side of the barn, it is like the next act, or the start of an entirely new play.
Studded throughout with black and white photographs.
Hard to know how to rate this 32 page (that is mainly image filled) exercise in bovine observation. If I was a fellow contender for this prize I would probably be very miffed with the result.
Opening: EACH NEW DAY, when they come out from the far side of the barn, it is like the next act, or the start of an entirely new play.
Studded throughout with black and white photographs.
Hard to know how to rate this 32 page (that is mainly image filled) exercise in bovine observation. If I was a fellow contender for this prize I would probably be very miffed with the result.
April 14, 2021
This is a very strange, very little book about cows. I like cows. I like this book. 4 stars bc it's strange, about cows, little, somewhat insane, somewhat boring, oddly bold, and very precise.
Read
July 16, 2022she's crazy. Love her
August 10, 2022
FIVE STARS! I LOVE COWS!!
Read
November 11, 2024She just gets what it’s like to be a girl with a special affinity for cows
June 25, 2011
They are not metaphors. They are cows.
Read
March 21, 2022i feel stupid i paid money for this
Read
October 18, 2022quiero que las únicas palabras que circulen por mi subconsciente sean las de este libro
July 8, 2023
The front cover of this chapbook features a cow in a field, looking stolid and a little bit curious: ears wide apart and forward, one front hoof planted a little ahead of the other. The grass is green, and so are the trees behind it. The back cover is a continuation of the same picture, with another cow ambling off, away from the camera. There are black and white photos by Lydia Davis, Theo Cote, and Stephen Davis throughout the book; the titular cows appear alongside the text about them, and it works. This is a really great little book, worth reading and then re-reading. Davis's writing is concrete and elegant and smart and engaging: this book is about looking at cows in a field, but it's also just about looking, about paying attention, and then about piecing a scene together in words. I was enchanted from the first two sentences:
The book is a series of vignettes, a scene of cows and another scene of cows and another scene of cows. Sometimes Davis's writing is funny; sometimes it's just matter-of-fact; throughout, it's wonderfully precise. There are moments, which I love, where there's both precision and abstraction, something very concrete but also making a leap, like: "When they all three stand bunched together in a far corner of the field by the woods, they form one dark irregular mass, with twelve legs" (11).
Each new day, when they come out from the far side of the barn, it is like the next act, or the start of an entirely new play.
They amble out from the far side of the barn with their rhythmic, graceful walk, and it is an occasion, like the start of a parade. (7)
The book is a series of vignettes, a scene of cows and another scene of cows and another scene of cows. Sometimes Davis's writing is funny; sometimes it's just matter-of-fact; throughout, it's wonderfully precise. There are moments, which I love, where there's both precision and abstraction, something very concrete but also making a leap, like: "When they all three stand bunched together in a far corner of the field by the woods, they form one dark irregular mass, with twelve legs" (11).
June 11, 2015
The first time I heard about this little book was from a video on Youtube that's an artistic interpretation of a moment in the book. The video is enchanting and dreamlike. Then I purchased, Can't and Won't by Lydia Davis. I rushed through The Cows wanting to only consume the book. Terrible. I didn't experience The Cows at all. I've done some reading about slow reading and I was encouraged by a friend to slow down. I purchased the chapbook, The Cows which includes black and white photographs of the cows. I sat on the deck and let my legs dangle over the edge on a sunny afternoon, and read it slowly. It was lovely. It is now one of my favorite books.
February 2, 2022
Very very very short story by Lydia Davis. It’s a simple story about the cows that live across the street from her and you get the see what I really love about Davis’ writing: her unparalleled depiction of life, and movement. Reading the story felt incredibly mindful.
April 22, 2011
A meditative little essay (with photos!) about her neighbor's cows, Lydia Davis's newest little oddity is actually pretty sweet...and dare I say, CUTE!
Read
April 11, 2024I'm a long-standing admirer of Lydia Davis's work, but WTF is this?
A whole book describing three cows in a field?
Yes, the sentences are precise and meticulously honed - obviously - because we don't expect anything less from Lydia Davis, but honestly, I also expected more.
The Cows is like a joke, except the butt of the joke is apparently the reader.
SPOLIERS AHEAD
The highlight of this book, for this reader in any case, is learning that one of the cows was going to be killed for the crime of not producing a calf, but she refused to get in the truck that would take her to the slaughterhouse.
This act of defiance saved her life, or bought her immunity, or a stay of execution or whatever.
Actually, I felt pretty good reading that part, because by the time this reader got that far he was quite invested in the fate of these cows.
But that also got me wondering about how that same cow didn't get pregnant by using the same tactics, namely refusing to get onto the truck that would bring her to the stud.
Then The Cows could be a whole meditation on reproductive rights, and how cows - or any other domesticated animals - don't have any, or if they do it is only in extremely rare circumstances, but that might depend on allowing the cow to know why it was being encouraged to climb aboard the truck, which seems far fetched.
But despite that, the moral of the story - if there is one, indeed if you can even consider this narrative a story, - is that if you value your independence, don't get on any trucks, especially when you don't know where they are going, because you could end up being raped or murdered, which happens a lot if you happen to be a domesticated animal, but could also happen even if you aren't.
I also liked the bit about where the white parts of the cows' mostly black goth outfits only seem white until it snows, and then juxtaposed with the snow seem more yellow than white. Except the goth outfits aren't really goth outfits. The cows are actually naked, like the emperor.
Final thoughts (hah)
It's great that a book like this can find a publisher. It's also extremely unlikely that it was published on its merits. It was probably published because it would have Lydia Davis's name on the cover and make money, because if this was from any unknown writer it would unlikely make it out of the slush pile (despite the beautiful writing).
Seriously though, WTAF?
There are three cows in a field. Okay, we get it. Cows can move about. Except these ones sometimes just appear in one spot after being in another spot. From one passage to another we begin to recognize the cows, or one of them at least.
Imagine a writer stuck out in the countryside at a loss for something to write about. But there are cows, so she writes little vignettes about cows.
It's as crazy an idea as a painter stuck out in the country, looking for inspiration, decides to paint haystacks, or water lilies, or sunflowers, over and over again. Each time slightly differently. Different light, different angle, maybe different season.
Maybe the whole collection is more than the sum of its parts.
Maybe the cows are more that milk and calves and ribeye steaks.
Maybe everything is more of everything.
Maybe it's the looking that is more important than the seeing.
Maybe this book is really a sublime masterpiece that can be dipped into like a collection of haiku, that can bear multiple re-readings.
Maybe by being a so low-steak (sorry) endeavour for a reader it becomes something light and ephemeral to the point of being transcendental.
Maybe.
And because part of me is open to that sort of generous interpretation and because part of me is all WTF that's 30 minutes of my life I'll never get back, it proves its merit by reaching parts that other books might not.
"Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)" - Walt Whitman
A whole book describing three cows in a field?
Yes, the sentences are precise and meticulously honed - obviously - because we don't expect anything less from Lydia Davis, but honestly, I also expected more.
The Cows is like a joke, except the butt of the joke is apparently the reader.
SPOLIERS AHEAD
The highlight of this book, for this reader in any case, is learning that one of the cows was going to be killed for the crime of not producing a calf, but she refused to get in the truck that would take her to the slaughterhouse.
This act of defiance saved her life, or bought her immunity, or a stay of execution or whatever.
Actually, I felt pretty good reading that part, because by the time this reader got that far he was quite invested in the fate of these cows.
But that also got me wondering about how that same cow didn't get pregnant by using the same tactics, namely refusing to get onto the truck that would bring her to the stud.
Then The Cows could be a whole meditation on reproductive rights, and how cows - or any other domesticated animals - don't have any, or if they do it is only in extremely rare circumstances, but that might depend on allowing the cow to know why it was being encouraged to climb aboard the truck, which seems far fetched.
But despite that, the moral of the story - if there is one, indeed if you can even consider this narrative a story, - is that if you value your independence, don't get on any trucks, especially when you don't know where they are going, because you could end up being raped or murdered, which happens a lot if you happen to be a domesticated animal, but could also happen even if you aren't.
I also liked the bit about where the white parts of the cows' mostly black goth outfits only seem white until it snows, and then juxtaposed with the snow seem more yellow than white. Except the goth outfits aren't really goth outfits. The cows are actually naked, like the emperor.
Final thoughts (hah)
It's great that a book like this can find a publisher. It's also extremely unlikely that it was published on its merits. It was probably published because it would have Lydia Davis's name on the cover and make money, because if this was from any unknown writer it would unlikely make it out of the slush pile (despite the beautiful writing).
Seriously though, WTAF?
There are three cows in a field. Okay, we get it. Cows can move about. Except these ones sometimes just appear in one spot after being in another spot. From one passage to another we begin to recognize the cows, or one of them at least.
Imagine a writer stuck out in the countryside at a loss for something to write about. But there are cows, so she writes little vignettes about cows.
It's as crazy an idea as a painter stuck out in the country, looking for inspiration, decides to paint haystacks, or water lilies, or sunflowers, over and over again. Each time slightly differently. Different light, different angle, maybe different season.
Maybe the whole collection is more than the sum of its parts.
Maybe the cows are more that milk and calves and ribeye steaks.
Maybe everything is more of everything.
Maybe it's the looking that is more important than the seeing.
Maybe this book is really a sublime masterpiece that can be dipped into like a collection of haiku, that can bear multiple re-readings.
Maybe by being a so low-steak (sorry) endeavour for a reader it becomes something light and ephemeral to the point of being transcendental.
Maybe.
And because part of me is open to that sort of generous interpretation and because part of me is all WTF that's 30 minutes of my life I'll never get back, it proves its merit by reaching parts that other books might not.
"Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)" - Walt Whitman
January 29, 2023
The cows are just cows. I wonder if Lydia Davis has listened to moo by Doja Cat?
I do think this chapbook is particularly interesting because it just exists like the cows exist. It takes its time and allows itself to move at its own pass. As a Taurus (lol) I fear I get it. But I was also left wanting more and not getting that because the cows are just cows.
I do think this chapbook is particularly interesting because it just exists like the cows exist. It takes its time and allows itself to move at its own pass. As a Taurus (lol) I fear I get it. But I was also left wanting more and not getting that because the cows are just cows.
February 24, 2019
This book is so gentle and lovely - her descriptions of the cows feel familiar and tap into every thought I've had when observing cows. I loved it.
August 31, 2023
big slay (moo)
February 14, 2025
me dedicaré a escribir libros así cuando me jubile
May 24, 2025
I would beg Lydia Davis to let me read her grocery list.
September 20, 2025
vaquitas <3
Read
March 5, 2025makes me want to sit still and observe
Read
February 15, 2025i guess this is how all of us feel when we observe cows across the street.
January 22, 2019
Met een zucht sla ik de laatste e-bladzijde om van Lydia Davis’ The Cows: wat een pareltje! Een chapboek waarin Davis een jaar lang drie koeien observeert, die tegenover haar huis in een weiland staan, weer of geen weer.
Ze hebben inktzwarte lijven, wit gevlekte koppen en zijn erg innemend. In prozapoëzie schetst Davis hun leven & leefomstandigheden, die ik allerminst als beklagenswaardig omschrijven wil; integendeel, de dames lijken zich uitstekend te vermaken.
Door de handel en wandel van de koeien scherp en in een op menselijk gedrag toegespitst idioom te beschrijven, zonder daarbij tot antropomorfisme te vervallen, laat Davis het onderscheid tussen mens en dier in zekere zin vervagen; je raakt begaan met hun lot, en zij tonen plotsklaps interesse in jou:
‘Hun aandacht is onverdeeld, als ze naar de overkant turen: ze zijn stil en kijken ons aan. En omdat ze zo stil zijn, komt hun belangstelling als filosofisch over.’
Gaandeweg het bundeltje werd ik steeds nieuwsgieriger naar wat de koeien eigenlijk aan het doen waren, voelden, dachten. En soms kreeg ik medelijden met ze:
‘Als het sneeuwt, valt de sneeuw op dezelfde wijze op hen als op de bomen en het veld. Soms verroeren ze evenals de bomen of het veld geen vin. Op hun ruggen en hoofden hoopt de sneeuw zich op.’
Aandachtige waarneming, een gericht gadeslaan, kan de basis vormen voor een ethisch luisteren naar en zorgen voor andere aardbewoners, levensvormen.
‘Eentje heeft er een kalf gekregen. Maar haar leven is er niet ingewikkelder door geworden. Ze staat stil om hem te laten drinken. Ze likt hem.’
Ook koeien zijn gevoelig, actief, reactief & onzeker. Boeken als dit dragen bij aan de vorming van een realistischer beeld van wat en wie dieren in het algemeen en koeien in het bijzonder zijn.
PS Sinds oktober vorig jaar volg ik de Official UK Chapbook Chart, die wekelijks wordt geüpdatet. Hoewel reeds in 2011 uitgebracht, bevindt The Cows zich al maandenlang in de top tien. Ik wilde weten waarom en schafte het 32-pagina dikke chapboek via Kindle aan. Er is ook een papieren uitgave beschikbaar.
https://tonvanthof.com/2019/01/22/11061/
Ze hebben inktzwarte lijven, wit gevlekte koppen en zijn erg innemend. In prozapoëzie schetst Davis hun leven & leefomstandigheden, die ik allerminst als beklagenswaardig omschrijven wil; integendeel, de dames lijken zich uitstekend te vermaken.
Door de handel en wandel van de koeien scherp en in een op menselijk gedrag toegespitst idioom te beschrijven, zonder daarbij tot antropomorfisme te vervallen, laat Davis het onderscheid tussen mens en dier in zekere zin vervagen; je raakt begaan met hun lot, en zij tonen plotsklaps interesse in jou:
‘Hun aandacht is onverdeeld, als ze naar de overkant turen: ze zijn stil en kijken ons aan. En omdat ze zo stil zijn, komt hun belangstelling als filosofisch over.’
Gaandeweg het bundeltje werd ik steeds nieuwsgieriger naar wat de koeien eigenlijk aan het doen waren, voelden, dachten. En soms kreeg ik medelijden met ze:
‘Als het sneeuwt, valt de sneeuw op dezelfde wijze op hen als op de bomen en het veld. Soms verroeren ze evenals de bomen of het veld geen vin. Op hun ruggen en hoofden hoopt de sneeuw zich op.’
Aandachtige waarneming, een gericht gadeslaan, kan de basis vormen voor een ethisch luisteren naar en zorgen voor andere aardbewoners, levensvormen.
‘Eentje heeft er een kalf gekregen. Maar haar leven is er niet ingewikkelder door geworden. Ze staat stil om hem te laten drinken. Ze likt hem.’
Ook koeien zijn gevoelig, actief, reactief & onzeker. Boeken als dit dragen bij aan de vorming van een realistischer beeld van wat en wie dieren in het algemeen en koeien in het bijzonder zijn.
PS Sinds oktober vorig jaar volg ik de Official UK Chapbook Chart, die wekelijks wordt geüpdatet. Hoewel reeds in 2011 uitgebracht, bevindt The Cows zich al maandenlang in de top tien. Ik wilde weten waarom en schafte het 32-pagina dikke chapboek via Kindle aan. Er is ook een papieren uitgave beschikbaar.
https://tonvanthof.com/2019/01/22/11061/
March 6, 2021
Es la descripción de las vaquitas que viven frente a la casa de Lydia Davis. Escribe sobre sus posiciones en momentos específicos del día, sus gestos y cómo se lamen de vez en cuando. Es la cosa más adorable que leído en un tiempo. Desearía vivir en este libro o ser una vaca y vivir con esa paz en el campo.
October 25, 2013
"The third cow could not be bred because she would not get into the van to be taken to the bull. Then, after a few months, they wanted to take her to be slaughtered. But she would not get into the van to be taken to slaughter. So she is still there."
December 11, 2022
In awe of her writing style, as always. Reading her is like seeing what she sees through a crystal clear glass - everything is so clear and visible, and real.. as if I could just extend my hand and touch them!
I never enjoyed watching cows so much, thanks to her magic with words.
I never enjoyed watching cows so much, thanks to her magic with words.
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