POEMS FOR TIM HOWARD #1: WYNN WHELDON

Many who have watched the Greatest World Cup Ever can agree the last-minute battles of underdog teams has yet to be matched by the bold, selfless, and noble derring-do of the USA side in their tragic match against Belgium - tragic, in the sense that Homer's work is, because so often the greatest are the flawed few, who fall before their time. Especially deserving of praise is Tim Howard, already from this game a national icon in America back home, a goal keeper whose excellence, unnerved and ever-willing to leap and save, epitomises everything worth emulating about the beautiful game. Beyond those who dive and cheat and bite, there stands the keeper with the stirring record of saves, Tim Howard, previously unsung, unheralded, now seen for what he is on the world stage. In order to keep the fires of his memory lit, Eyewear welcomes poems inspired by this hero. The first is by British poet Wynn Wheldon.

ALBERT CAMUS CONSOLES TIM HOWARD

C’est la vie, Tim. It’s ridiculous.

Man of the Match but on the losing team.

Absurd. But bear this is mind:

You cannot create experience

You must undergo it.

You may think yourself unlucky, but

You have shared your finest moment

With the largest numbers, and such fortune

Is known by few. Those spilling beer in the pub

Or coffee in the sitting room

Long to give as you have given.

You have found more in defeat

Than ever in victory, Leonidas.

copyright the author 2014.

Wynn Wheldon is a freelance writer. His pamphlet ‘Tiny Disturbances’ was published by Acumen in 2012. His poetry has appeared in numerous journals, including Ambit, Interpreter’s House, London Magazine, The Rialto and The Spectator. He lives in London and, for his sins, supports Tottenham Hotspur.

Comments

IQ AND THE POETS - ARE YOU SMART?

When you open your mouth to speak, are you smart? A funny question from a great song, but also, a good one, when it comes to poets, and poetry. We tend to have a very ambiguous view of intelligence in poetry, one that I'd say is dysfunctional. Basically, it goes like this: once you are safely dead, it no longer matters how smart you were. For instance, Auden was smarter than Yeats , but most would still say Yeats is the finer poet; Eliot is clearly highly intelligent, but how much of Larkin 's work required a high IQ? Meanwhile, poets while alive tend to be celebrated if they are deemed intelligent: Anne Carson, Geoffrey Hill , and Jorie Graham , are all, clearly, very intelligent people, aside from their work as poets. But who reads Marianne Moore now, or Robert Lowell , smart poets? Or, Pound ? How smart could Pound be with his madcap views? Less intelligent poets are often more popular. John Betjeman was not a very smart poet, per se....

Poetry vs. Literature

Poetry is, of course, a part of literature. But, increasingly, over the 20th century, it has become marginalised - and, famously, has less of an audience than "before". I think that, when one considers the sort of criticism levelled against Seamus Heaney and "mainstream poetry", by poet-critics like Jeffrey Side , one ought to see the wider context for poetry in the "Anglo-Saxon" world. This phrase was used by one of the UK's leading literary cultural figures, in a private conversation recently, when they spoke eloquently about the supremacy of "Anglo-Saxon novels" and their impressive command of narrative. My heart sank as I listened, for what became clear to me, in a flash, is that nothing has changed since Victorian England (for some in the literary establishment). Britain (now allied to America) and the English language with its marvellous fiction machine, still rule the waves. I personally find this an uncomfortable position - but when ...

"I have crossed oceans of time to find you..."

In terms of great films about, and of, love, we have Vertigo, In The Mood for Love , and Casablanca , Doctor Zhivago , An Officer and a Gentleman , at the apex; as well as odder, more troubling versions, such as Sophie's Choice and Silence of the Lambs . I think my favourite remains Bram Stoker's Dracula , with the great immortal line "I have crossed oceans of time to find you...".

E Y E W E A R, THE BLOG - FREEDOM MEANS BEING UNAFRAID TO WRITE WHAT YOU THINK

Search This Blog