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Golf Poems about Politics and the Weather

president-taft

 

President Taft Addressing his Ball

Below are some poems from a book called “A Line o’ Gowf or Two” written by Bert Leston Tayor and published by Alfred A. Knopf in 1923. Charles “Chick” Evans, the famous Chicago amateur golfer and a friend of Taylor’s, wrote the introduction. Taylor was a newspaper columnist, poet and writer. From 1910, until his death in 1921, he wrote a daily column in the Chicago Tribune under the byline “A Line o’ Type or Two.” During this time he became one of the most widely read newspaper humorists. His book is a posthumous compilation of his golf writings and poetry taken from his Tribune column.

First is a poem to fit the political season:

 ON THE FIRING LINE

At thought of what may hap today
I’m not disturbed a bit;
And who may triumph in the fray
Perplexes me no whit.

 The doings in Convention hall
Afford me no concern;
I do not speculate at all
On how the tide will turn.

 I ask not who may hit or miss,
Who perish, who survive;
The thing that bothers me is this—
Why did I hook that drive?

 Next, a poem of similar form that must have been written during the 1912 presidential campaign in which the sitting president Taft was opposed by both (Colonel) Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson:

 ADDRESSING THE BALL

I do not like the Colonel’s camp,
Because I hate a crowd;
The language there would light a lamp,
And all the talk is loud.

 I do not like the Taftian camp,
Its atmosphere is ghoulish;
The language there is dull and damp,
And all the talk is foolish.

 I do not like a hue and cry,
I do not like a ball,
A plague on both your camps, say I—
Hey, Caddy! Watch that ball!

 And finally four lines about this time of year for those of us who see winter coming:

 Gather ye foursomes while ye may,
The old year fast is going;
And this same sky that smiles to-day
To-morrow may be snowing.

After thought:

If newspapers or golf magazines still included poetry, then after the recent brouhaha involving Ian Poulter, the British golf pro, and Ted Bishop, then the head of the PGA, you might have seen a verse such as the following,

TED BISHOP’S LAST TWEET

The current head of the PGA, himself a golfing pro,
In his Tweet to Ian P. a bias he did show;
His words included “Lil Girl” a reference better skirted,
By doing so he lost his job and left colleagues disconcerted.

LSW

aside

Here are three four-lines verses that I would like to share with you on a beautiful late September morning in New England:

THE YIPS PURE AND SIMPLE

The yips occur when you can’t control
The direction or speed of the ball you roll.
You have the yips if you shake your putts
Frequent attacks can drive you nuts.

CHANGING ODDS

Heard said that trees are nine-tenths air,
If your ball gets over you hardly care;
But if it’s low and lost from view -
No more than even that your ball gets through.

NEVER MISS

To make a putt without a doubt
A mind-trick to apply:
Pretend that you’ve already missed
And this is your second try!

Leon S White, PhD

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Above and Below Par

below par

From time to time I have published Posts that include poems in which I explore opposites in golf, for example, the opposite of putting or lying. You can find the previous Posts by clicking on the category “opposites in golf” in the column on the right. I owe the idea to a famous American poet, Richard Wilbur, who wrote two books, Opposites and More Opposites “for children and others.”

If you have the time read this poem out loud. This will slow you down and hopefully you will get more from your reading. (Applying this lesson to your golf swing might help as well.)


ABOVE AND BELOW PAR

When you say about a chap, that he’s above par
Exactly what it is you mean, depends on where you are.

 If you’re on a golf course,  you’re referring to his score
Which relative to even par is at least one stroke more;

 But in a different setting, above par means
Excellent, outstanding, even sterling genes.

So above par’s opposite is that which golfer’s seek
Otherwise below par is really rather weak.   

However when below par play leads to an above par score
Then the seeming opposites are opposite no more.

Leon S White, PhD

Note: My last Post was on WW I. I plan at least one additional Post on this subject, but it will take me a while longer to put it together.

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Golf Poetry at its Best

for Golfer's Discontent post

 

Robert K. Risk and Grantland Rice are two of my favorite golf poets. This Blog (and my book) contain poems by both. I think I remember reading that Rice wrote more than 6000 poems throughout his lifetime. He wrote on may subjects besides golf. His most famous lines come from a 1908 poem called “Alumnus Football” (http://bit.ly/1l7QLGe):

“For when the One Great Scorer comes to mark against your name,
He writes – not that you won or lost – but how you played the Game.”

 

Risk, on the other hand, seems to have limited his poetry to golf. He was a Scottish writer, poet and drama critic. As far as I know he published a single collection of golf poems in 1919 under the title, “Songs of the Links.” The book contains 36 poems and this may be all that Risk ever published. Nevertheless, almost all are worth reading. I am particularly fond of the one that I want to share with you in this post. It describes beautifully. with humor and clarity, how golfers always seem to long for some level of play that they cannot achieve. And then ends by pointing out the disappointment that would result from playing too well.

THE GOLFER’S DISCONTENT

By Robert K. Risk

The evils of the Golfer’s state
Are shadows, not substantial things –
That envious bunkers lie in wait
For all our cleanest, longest swings;
The pitch that should have won the round
Is caught and killed in heavy ground.

And even if at last we do
That 80, coveted so long,
A melancholy strain breaks through
The cadence of our even-song –
A  7  (which was “an easy 4″)
Has “spoilt our 77 score.”

And thus, with self-deception bland,
We mourn the fours that should have been,
Forgetting, on the other hand,
The luck that helped us through the green;
Calmly accepting as our due
The four-hole which we fluked in two.

The drive that barely cleared the sand,
The brassy-shot which skimmed the wall,
The useful “kick,” the lucky “land” –
We never mention these at all;
The only luck that we admit
Is when misfortune comes of it.

And therefore, in a future state,
When we shall all putt out in two,
When drives are all hole-high and straight,
And every yarn we tell is true,
Golf will be wearisome and flat,
When there is naught to grumble at.

 

 

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A Golfer’s Lament: “If only I could …”

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“If only I could play that hole again” is the title of an e-book of my golf poetry. It is a refrain that has either been uttered out loud or at least thought about by almost every golfer after playing a golf hole badly. It is certainly a worthy subject for a poem.

 If only I could play that hole again

If only I could play that hole again
I know that I could shoot a better score
That drive I hit was rather short and right
A second chance would let me make a four.

Instead my second shot is from the trees
It traveled only fifty yards at best
And left me feeling sick and ill at ease

I’m sure if asked my teacher would agree
With all the skill I have but have not shown
I should be lining up a putt for three.

Instead I have a tricky wood to play
A side-hill up-hill lie around a bend
A perfect shot would show that I’m okay.

My swing is perfect but the ball went wide
It disappeared from sight and was not found
Nothing I can do will turn the tide.

Instead of two I’m on the green in six
My second putt lips out my score is nine
Bad luck it is that put me in this fix.

I’d really like to play that hole again
To show off all my talent and my skill
My partners think my attitude is great
But check my chance to make a par as nil.

The e-book that includes this poem and many others is available on Amazon. The link is http://amzn.to/WyVnIz. I hope you will give it a look.

 

 

 

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The Playing Partner From Hell

From the USGA Digital Library

 

In 1923, The American Golfer, the golf magazine of its day, asked its readers to submit entries to answer the question “What Puts Me off My Game Most?” The April 7th issue included the responses of the three prize winners. The winner of the second prize wrote, in part,

“…I can play with the hare type and with the human tortoise…Sun nor wind nor clouds affect me, I enjoy them all. Nor does a bad hole depress me, for there are many such in my life and I should worry.

But delivery me, oh, delivery me from the fiend who coaches my each and every shot! He usually has about a twenty-four handicap. He has made every hole on the course in par, but never by any chance has he gotten two of them in the same round.

As I step up to drive it starts. My stance is wrong. I should waggle more; my backswing is too short. If I take my midiron for one hundred and twenty-five yards, I am patiently told that I should pitch up with a mashie….”

The second prize winner goes on a while longer, but you get the point.

The first prize winner complains about a similar critic that he calls “NEVER-WILLIE.” In his entry he includes these quotes:

“You never will get rid of that slice with your left toe turned out.”
“You never will hit them clean until you learn to keep your head down.”
“You never will be able to use a mashie as long as you keep dropping that right shoulder.”

At least it’s nice to know that the guy you played with last week that wouldn’t stop talking has a long history.

To immortalize this playing partner from hell, I wrote the following:

He Talks a Good Game

He talks a good game
You know the guy
He judges each swing
With a critical eye.
 

He talks a good game
Awash with advice
He’s off to the races
When he sees you slice.
 

He talks a good game
He studies the pros
He is eager to tell you
All that he knows.
 

He talks a good game
Can he turn a phrase
He talks a good game
But it’s not how he plays.
 

He talks and he talks
With eyeballs that glisten
But even the duffers
No longer listen.
 

Leon S White, PhD

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The Fair-Weather Golfer

winter-06-019

Living in a four-seasons climate such as New England, I have always thought that knowing you can only play golf from say April to November is an incentive the play when you have the chance. On the contrary, I imagine that in places where the weather is always “playable” golfers might more easily postpone a round knowing that there’s always tomorrow.

 I wrote the following verses to raise this question. I would welcome any comments you might have.

The Fair-Weather Golfer

Play golf in New England
And you have to prepare
To get to the course
When the weather is fair.

But  play in a place
Where the weather’s not rotten
It’s easy to be sidetracked
And your golf game forgotten.

So is -

The fair-weather golfer
More likely to play
Where there’s snow half the year
Or sun every day?

Leon S White

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Golf Opposites: The Opposite of Lying

A ball belonging to Parker's Jennifer Polglaze nestles in the ...

A little more than three years ago I began writing poems about opposites in golf. I published two in October 2010 (http://golfpoet.com/2010/10/04/golf-opposites/)  and two more in September 2012 (http://golfpoet.com/2012/09/25/two-golf-poems-about-opposites/). Here is a more recent effort. In total I have now written 17 poems on this theme. If I can get to 30 may I’ll put them together in another eBook.

THE OPPOSITE OF LYING

Lying and golfing go together
Both on fairways and in the heather
A ball that’s OB from the tee
Needs a second drive and you’re lying three.

 If in a match and without luck
Your ball might be lying in the muck
But when your opponent’s not nearby
The temptation exists to improve your lie.

 A ball in a divot, a ground depression
Might also temp a rules transgression
But a little voice inside you cries
The rule says play it as it lies.

 Not only balls but clubs lie too
And sometimes golfers, but of course not you
Then to find an opposite without wallowing
Bear with me and consider the following:

A ball that’s caught up in a tree
Would not be lying two or three
And barring a gust that made it  fall
A treed ball wouldn’t be lying at all.

So lying’s opposite, though one among many
Is treed – which seems as good as any.

Leon S White, PhD

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The Ball

Woodley Flier

Raymond Carver (1938-1988) was a famous American short story writer and also a poet. Among his poems was one called “The Car.” It begins,

The car with a cracked windshield.
The car that threw a rod.
The car without brakes.
The car with a faulty U-joint.

And continues in a similar fashion for 44 additional lines!

Using Mr. Carver’s poem as a model, I wrote a more modest 20 line poem called “The Ball.”

 THE BALL

The ball with a smile.
The ball with dimples.
The ball with two colors.
The ball with a liquid center.
The ball with mud on it.

The hard wooden round ball.
Old Tom’s featherie ball.
The  Woodley Flyer ball.
The balata ball.
The three piece ball.

The ball that missed the tree.
The ball that hit the spectator.
The ball that hung on the edge.
The ball that sits on the tee.
The ball that lands in a trap.

The ball lofted in the air.
The ball lost in the gorse.
The ball left on the range.
The ball belted with a driver.
The ball signed by Tiger.

 

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“The Golfer’s Waggle” for Jason Dufner, PGA Champion and Champion Waggler

Jason Dufner

Jason Dufner, who last week won his first major, the PGA Championship, has become well known to the golfing public in the last two years for his approach to waggling his club before hitting the ball. Waggling may be as old as the game of golf itself. And an unknown poet almost one hundred years ago provided us with the most detailed analysis of this pre-shot phenomenon. The poem appeared in The American Golfer in September 1915. (The few Scottish expressions are starred and translated.)

The Golfer’s Waggle

Every golfer has a waggle—
A waggle o’ his ain—*                                           of his own
A wiggle-waggle, long and short,
Wi’ flourishes or plain.

The long and quick, the short and quick,
Long, short, and quick and slow;
The variety is infinite
That golfin’ waggles show.

The sprightly waggle of success,
Dull waggle of defeat;
The weary waggle-wasting time,
The waggle of conceit.

The waggle of the swanky pro,
Of “Far and Sure” design;
The feeble waggle of old age,
That preludes “off the line.”

The caddie’s waggle-dry asides,
That golfers whiles maun* suffer;                                   must
And worst o’ waggles on the links,
The waggle of the duffer.

The waggle shows the waggler,
Be the waggle slow or quick;
There is mair* into the waggle,                                      more
Than the waggle o’ the stick.

The poem can be found in my book, Golf Course of Rhymes – Links between Golf and Poetry Through the Ages. (Available on Amazon.com.)

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