Wrong Turn
Hi Dave, and everyone else. Here is a poem from an athletic event I witnessed on August 1st. I'm betting this fulfills the definition of a poem "only tangentially related to baseball," but I am willing to share and take feedback if you can provide. No need to include if it really belongs in a chapbook of tennis poetry.
Cheers, Tom Philion
Tom Philion
After a restless night in Pierre, South Dakota
a stretch of the legs at the Corn Palace and
a turn south at Albert Lea, Minnesota
we arrive at 2620 140th St., Chase City, Iowa.
Before us lies
a green tennis court.
Not asphalt like the ones found
in most public parks—
but rather a well-manicured
finely irrigated
carefully lined
lawn
surrounded by
a white picket fence
three steel sheds
a dirt driveway
and rows upon rows of corn.
The All Iowa Lawn Tennis Club.
A public and
immensely playful (strawberries straddle the perimeter)
creation of a middle-aged Iowa farmer.
A court of dreams.
*****
In the time it takes to shout “play ball!”
two boys
emerge from our minivan
racquets in hand
yelps of joy
escaping
from their mouths.
They begin to rally
moving awkwardly
re-thinking their hard court habits.
It begins to rain.
The hot, humid air
briefly
but forcefully
coalesces
into a late afternoon shower.
Ignoring advice
the boys play through
luxuriating
in their new-found freedom
and the thrill
of playing on
green grass
like the pros at Wimbledon.
The sun returns
more intense than before.
The boys do not notice.
They compete energetically
yet innocently
until forced to make way for
their mother and sister
the score tied
4-4.
*****
We do not know the best uses of
our time and energy.
At one time or another
we all make decisions that generate
confusion
frustration
and loneliness.
But some decisions
are merely perceived by others as
unfortunate.
Like the decision
of Sacagawea
to guide Lewis and Clark
into the wilderness.
Or the determination
of a young Adlai Stevenson
to leave law school and step
into the fray of
local politics.
A life fulfilled demands
courage and imagination
in the face of skepticism and self-doubt.
This is the lesson learned from
an Iowa farmer
with the chutzpah
to transform
a cattle feedlot
into a tennis welcome center
where boys and girls play
and visions are realized.
Cheers, Tom Philion
Tom Philion
After a restless night in Pierre, South Dakota
a stretch of the legs at the Corn Palace and
a turn south at Albert Lea, Minnesota
we arrive at 2620 140th St., Chase City, Iowa.
Before us lies
a green tennis court.
Not asphalt like the ones found
in most public parks—
but rather a well-manicured
finely irrigated
carefully lined
lawn
surrounded by
a white picket fence
three steel sheds
a dirt driveway
and rows upon rows of corn.
The All Iowa Lawn Tennis Club.
A public and
immensely playful (strawberries straddle the perimeter)
creation of a middle-aged Iowa farmer.
A court of dreams.
*****
In the time it takes to shout “play ball!”
two boys
emerge from our minivan
racquets in hand
yelps of joy
escaping
from their mouths.
They begin to rally
moving awkwardly
re-thinking their hard court habits.
It begins to rain.
The hot, humid air
briefly
but forcefully
coalesces
into a late afternoon shower.
Ignoring advice
the boys play through
luxuriating
in their new-found freedom
and the thrill
of playing on
green grass
like the pros at Wimbledon.
The sun returns
more intense than before.
The boys do not notice.
They compete energetically
yet innocently
until forced to make way for
their mother and sister
the score tied
4-4.
*****
We do not know the best uses of
our time and energy.
At one time or another
we all make decisions that generate
confusion
frustration
and loneliness.
But some decisions
are merely perceived by others as
unfortunate.
Like the decision
of Sacagawea
to guide Lewis and Clark
into the wilderness.
Or the determination
of a young Adlai Stevenson
to leave law school and step
into the fray of
local politics.
A life fulfilled demands
courage and imagination
in the face of skepticism and self-doubt.
This is the lesson learned from
an Iowa farmer
with the chutzpah
to transform
a cattle feedlot
into a tennis welcome center
where boys and girls play
and visions are realized.
posted by Tom Philion @ 10:33 PM
2 Comments:
At 5:34 PM,
Frans Vander Grove said…
Plenty of baseball in there as far as I'm concerned!
At 9:07 AM,
David Schaafsma said…
Agreed, Mr Devries!
Tara and I read it aloud a couple times and then each separately and she will add her own comments, but I like this poem, the allusion to field on dreams, which may just be enough of a link, but then there is more, the "play ball" and all the exuberant boyish sport passion
--was the iowa farmer jewish? chutzpah? if you named others why not him?
-this poem at its heart embodies all the best impulses of the baseball poems I know and am reading, and is of the same ilk, a meditation on sport, politics, life. A keeper. Is the ending more than you need, sentimental? I decided not,this morning, but have been considering that. I like it a lot.
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