Passing beauty

It’s moving, just ahead
of the player’s most clever feet.
Every four years, we fill a cup,
then pour it out, a month of dreams.
Was it just last week that Bergkamp
flicked with orange elegance,
side-footing space and time?
No, he is long gone now,
off fielding fifty years.
Others follow. Messy time
melts beauty, remoulds it,
casts it always anew.
It never ages, constantly fired,
as we fade, we watchers,
yesterday’s players, passing.
Twenty sips at the cup
will fill a lifetime;
held safe in keeper’s hands.

PS Cottier

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This poem was just republished in Boots:A Selections of Football Poetry 1890-2017, edited by Mark Pirie of New Zealand. As Mark has it up as an sample from the book, I thought I would also republish it here. It was first published in Eureka Street here in Australia.

The book contains poems from New Zealand, England, France and the Netherlands, with New Zealand being the home of most. It is well worth reading for the diversity of approaches: biographical, political, elegiac (mine, for once!) humorous and historical. A lovely present for anyone interested in football.

It can be ordered through Lulu through the publisher’s website (HeadworX Publishers). Boots is an expanded edition of a previous collection first published in 2014.

No poem as such today. I am going down to Melbourne soon for the launch of The Stars Like Sand and am finding it hard to write at the mo.

However I recently had a hat trick of poems up at Eureka Street.

And, to continue the sporting metaphors, I scored a goal with a poem being included in the special World Cup edition of the New Zealand publication broadsheet. The poem, ‘Passing beauty’ was originally published at Eureka Street, and then in my second-prize-winning book The Cancellation of Clouds, which can be purchased from Ginninderra Press. Australia’s draw in the World Cup is (cough) perhaps (cough) somewhat difficult (hysterical laughter). We face Spain, The Netherlands and Chile. (Giggle.)

And, having linked more times than a golfer, she puts away clubs, balls big and balls small, and retires to the gym for a bit of metal.
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Here are the launch posters, for the last time.
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Poster_SLS_CanbW

Now, some Tuesday poets will have original poems, and some will have old ones. Check them out. Put down those barbells, meat-head, and click this feather:

Tuesday Poem