(Seems to be about) football

Draw thy foot lithe
in perilous land,
Men of the green-glade.
Others aid
a rock carried in fur.
A raid.
A symbol, sound

Way in the dell a
pebble is rising,
a new golden gap!
No diamond.
Dark waves.

Dirt on the mown lawn
Molehill wuthered over air
And my foe, dewy long-maned hair
A man, tiny and sinewy
‘Ah, men maketh roses
and raisins for drinking!’
horns Goalie

Hog is imminent
Man killed in too much time
Then fair-men calleth gray

Man or fawn
in garish military
cut off into the lawn.
Then of the golden
clap and cheering!


At first glance, this exercise seemed a little bit IM (intellectual masturbation), I almost gave it up for such, halfway through pig-translating this poem in Welsh. Then I just looked at my work and deleted/changed words that didn’t fit in with the meaning I had assigned to my poem (football). I also had to change the structure of it quite a bit for similar reasons. That poor person who wrote the original if they ever stumble on my ungainly bastardisation of their work … !
Maybe Menna Elfyn herself sent the unexpected thunderstorm which right now is raining sheets into the desert around me. As poetic as that sounds, it is incredibly true.

Hmmm. The more I reread my poem, the more sense it seems to make. Poem about football it is then.
Normally I would call it soccer, but hey, ‘fodolaeth’. Apparently this actually means existence, and for some this could be synonymous with football.
That’s enough.


2 thoughts on “(Seems to be about) football

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