"did you hear the Cowboy poetry last night? it was twice as big as last year, and they even had a microphone," she said to me, sitting in the Lutheran church the day before rodeo week. Red Bluff. No where. Cowboy Poet Land. hotel room like a hot flashback to the Central Valley years wasn't Jack Kerouac a Cowboy Poet? oh, no, he was a Lumberjack Poet. and what is Allen Ginsburg, then? Allen? Uncle Allen? Oh, he's dead!