Replacing slate with bitumen,
crumbling shiplap with new tongue-and-groove, 
      we sweat the same as those other men
            who raised this crooked barn  
and who, we’d like to think, would still approve.      

      Like elders speaking in low tones
to kids who ask about the recent dead, 
      the ancient headers creak hoarse groans.
            In wind, the rafters strain   
as thunder grumbles closer overhead. 

      We marvel at the wonky wall  
wedged into the hill so horses, goats or cows 
      could drift from pasture back to stall
            without the farmer’s prod—
or we assume, shrugging at flails and ploughs.  

      Planks termites haven’t gnawed to sand
retain old hammer dents and kerfs from saws. 
      Who knows what those who toiled by hand
            would make of, or make with, 
our front-end loaders and our zoning laws. 

      As if anticipating us, 
they improvised the hipless gambrel’s slant
      and rigged the struts for each bowed truss
            so steep it shouldn’t stand   
(we’ve tried to realign them but we can’t).   

      We yank square iron nails from boards
and trade farm implements for farm décor,
      clearing eaves of nesting birds
            to patch roof gaps in rain.   
Where no door’s hung for years, we hang a door. 

---

Brian Brodeur writes: “I grew up around a lot of sawdust—my father built houses. The sounds, sights, smells, and tactile sensations of construction still attract me, especially the language of construction sites. Like writing in meter and rhyme, architectural restoration links present desires with past needs, establishing a line of communion between the living and dead. I tried to embody this notion in “Not Versed in Country Things”—explicitly in the poem’s title, which is a direct response to Frost’s “The Need of Being Versed in Country Things,” that famous barn burner.”        

The poem won second place in 2025 First Things Poetry Prize.

Brian Brodeur is the author of four poetry books, most recently Some Problems with Autobiography (2023), which won the 2022 New Criterion Poetry Prize. Recent poems and literary criticism appear in The Hopkins Review, The Hudson Review, and Pushcart Prize XLIX (2025). Brian teaches creative writing and American literature at Indiana University East. He lives with his wife and daughter in the Whitewater River Valley.

Photo; “Autumn Country Barn” by ForestWander.com is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.