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A Poem for the Avid Golfer

September 20, 2010 by Leave a Comment

Here is a poem that should make any avid golfer smile and nod in agreement:

A LITTLE

A little learning so ’tis said,
Is dangerous for any head. .
A little wisdom, tipped with wit,
Will rarely fail to make a hit.
A little golf, ’twas said of late,
Will benefit the delicate.
At which some wise one had his fling:
“A little golf? There’s no such thing.”

Francis B. Keene.

For the avid golfer, the feelings expressed in these eight lines are easy to identify with. What might be surprising is that Francis Keene published this poem in the March 1900 issue of the magazine Golf.

Golf has change a lot in the last 110 years. No one will argue with that statement. But what the old poems featured in this Blog show, often with eloquence and wit, is that the feelings of a true golfer, who loves playing the game, have changed very little over time.


Filed Under: golf, golf history, golf humor, golf poetry, poetry, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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The Rules of Golf

September 6, 2010 by Leave a Comment

All of the recent golf rules violations inspired me to write the following poem:

THE RULE OF GOLF

The Rules of Golf are not to be broken;
Nevertheless, sometimes they are,
By Pros who should know when to invoke them,
Even when they are close to bizarre.

There are Rules for playing the ball as it lies,
And Rules that relate to the putting green,
Rules for a ball, moved, deflected or stopped,
And others related to “lift, place and clean.”

The Rule Book’s first subject, Etiquette,
Says bunker raking should be in your plans,
But that brings up a delicate subject:
What if no rake and the prints made by fans?

Remember that towel? An unneeded addition,
Placed on the ground somewhat in advance
Of a shot hit from a kneeling position,
For which Stadler got caught for “building a stance.”

And what of the famous scorecard debacle,
When De Vicenzo got himself in a jam.
Caught up in the moment, he missed the error,
His quote when informed, “What a stupid I am…”

After Inkster, call it the doughnut rule,
Which has nothing to do with bringing ’em.
But if you’re a Pro, waiting out a delay,
Better refrain from swinging ’em!

“Local” rules may also exist.
Just like the rest, they couldn’t be clearer,
Except when the Pros fail to peruse them,
Because they are posted on some bathroom mirror.

Surely the Pros know the rules in the Rule Book
Still they get DQ’ed for the craziest things.
The lastest poor Furyk, late for a Pro/Am
When his cell phone alarm logged zero rings!

Penalties are sometimes imposed by officials,
Walking along and right on the scene.
But now they are aided by enterprising viewers,
Vigilantes with Rule Books watching the screen.

Has all this complexity made the game better?
Maybe the Rules need some serious rethinking.
In the early days, thirteen were plenty,
A judicious review might lead to some shrinking!

Leon S White, PhD
September, 2010

Filed Under: golf, golf history, golf humor, golf poetry, humor, poetry, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Tiger Twines

August 30, 2010 by Leave a Comment

Over the last nine months or so, I have “covered” the Tiger stories with Twines, two line poems for Twitter. Now that at least one story has ended, I put nine of the Twines together:

Second thoughts Twine:

Had Tiger come clean before being hounded,
Could he have escaped without being pounded?

Where’s Tiger Indefinitely Twine:

Tiger’s missing from the scene,
What does “indefinite” really mean?

Endless Tiger Story Twine:

The media still feeds off Tiger’s sad tale,
But the word stew they offer is turning quite stale.

A Tiger Hater Twine:

He swings at Tiger as he would a golf ball,
What drives him has no sweet spot at all.

Tiger Returns Twine:

With Tiger’s announcement the suspense is suspended,
His “indefinite” leave is definitely ended.

Masters 2010 Twine:

The joy of golf is finally back,
Tiger’s in and again chasing Jack

The Canadian Doctor and Swing Doctor Twine:

Tiger’s bulging, Haney’s out
Twitterers have more to twit about.

Tiger’s On Course Troubles Twine:

Speculation is the game, sports writers love to play
And with Tiger now a duffer, they are having a field day.

Tiger Divorce Twine:

Now it’s over, the marriage’s busted
What’s Tiger left with – a swing untrusted.

All in all, a sad story.

Filed Under: golf, golf history, golf humor, golf poetry, Golf Twines, humor, poetry, sports poetry, Tiger Woods Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,
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D.J. and M.K. at the 2010 PGA Championship – Two Clerihews

August 23, 2010 by Leave a Comment

As all golf fans know, Dustin Johnson, the talented but inexperienced professional, has had his problems with the Majors this year. In June, at the U.S. Open, he led going into the last round and then skied to an 82, losing his chance to win. And in this year’s last major, the PGA Championship, leading by a shot on the last hole, he incurred a two stroke penalty for grounding his club in a bunker, and again lost any chance to win.

Johnson’s Major travails deserve to be remembered in a Clerihew. A Clerihew is  particular kind of a four line poem, named for its inventor, Edmund Clerihew Bentley. In an earlier Post, I described the characteristics of a Clerihew:

Clerihews are four line verses of the form aabb, in other words, the first and second lines rhyme as do the third and fourth. Beyond their rhyming scheme, Clerihews have a particular structure and purpose. Each focuses on one or more aspects of  the life and/or the works of a famous person while allowing for, better yet encouraging, overstatement, distortion and humor. It is also a requirement that the first line of a Clerihew begin or end with the person’s name.

So here is my Clerihew for Dustin Johnson:

D.J. at the PGA Championship

Dustin Johnson, D.J.to some,
Is likely feeling pretty glum.
He grounded his club in a trap unknown,
The result – another Major blown!

But what about the winner, Martin Kaymer? He deserves a Clerihew as well . . . and may need it to be remembered! So here is his:

Martin Kaymer – The Guy who Won

Martin Kaymer,
A Major first timer.
His win eclipsed by an unfortunate flap,
When the leader on 18 was caught in a trap!

Hopefully, both with have unclouded Major victories in the future.

Filed Under: golf, golf history, golf humor, golf poetry, humor, poetry, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Two Up on Grantland Rice

August 16, 2010 by 3 Comments

Grantland Rice, in his book, the duffer’s handbook of golf, includes a page of  humorous “sayings” under the title, “Short Approaches.” I took two of them, “If at first you don’t succeed, try looking at the ball,” and “He who swings and lifts his head, will say things better left unsaid,” and made four line verses out of them.

GOLF OR BOWLING

If at first you don’t succeed,
Try looking at the ball.
But if that doesn’t work for you
Try bowling or the crawl.

NOT FOR ATTRIBUTION

He who swings and lifts his head
Will say things better left unsaid.
He whose putting’s for the birds
Will likely echo the former’s words.

If you would like to try your hand at extending a Twine (a two line poem), try the following:

To be in the hole and not in a rut
With a short one left, don’t rush your putt.

Add a comment with your finishing two lines and thanks.

Filed Under: golf, golf humor, golf instruction, golf poetry, golf poetry books, humor, poetry, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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A Wife’s Place in the Golf World of 1886

August 2, 2010 by 1 Comment

Last November I wrote a Post that included a poem from the Captain of the Thistle Golf Club, David Jackson. The poem came from a 32 page book called Golf Songs & Recitations published in 1886. In my November Post I said that the book was not available in any library. I have since learned that one copy exists in the library of the University of British Columbia. I managed to find a 1988 reproduction of the book.

I picked up Jackson’s book again recently and found a relatively short epic poem called “The Breaking O’ the Clubs.” The poem describes the tensions that golf created between a man and his wife in the 1880’s when golf was becoming more popular among the rank and file. In writing the poem, Jackson used some Scottish dialect which I have tried to translate using Internet sources. The poem is interesting both for its lively content and its “happy” ending.

THE BREAKING O’ THE CLUBS

Ae nicht (One night) I had a round at Gouff wi’ my cronies, Bob and Tam,
When we were through, to weet our mou’, some ane (one) proposed a dram;
Sae down we sat, and had a chat about our Drives and Putting—
Wi’ (with) joke and sang, it wisna lang till it was time for shutting.
Then hame I goes on my tiptoes, but ah! the wife was waken.
“The morn,” she cries, “afore ye rise, I’ll ha’e yer Clubs a’ (all) broken;
Ye gang tae (go to) Gouff, it’s a’ your houff, and then ye maun (must) be drinking,
Some morning when ye canna rise, ye’ll get the sack, I’m thinking;
Whaur wull you be, the bairns (children) and me—oh, man, ye should think shame,
If I should rise and break yer Clubs, I woudna be to blame.”
To bed I sprung, and held my tongue, thinks I before the morrie,
For a’ this lung and words high-strung she surely will be sorry.

When morning dawned, I wakened, yawned, was pulling on a stockin’,
When horrors, a’! what was I saw – my Clubs and Cleeks a’ broken.
As guid (good) a Club as e’er was swung, I won at last Spring Meetin’,
My driving Cleek, my lofting Iron, a’ tools that ne’er were beaten,
How aft I’ve praised their style o’ mak’, and rubbed wi’ oil their handle,
It’s quite enough to drive me mad, and raise a perfit scandal.
I fumed and swore, and loud did roar, and kicked up such a shindy
The neebors gathered round the door, and some glowered through the window.

“Shall I give up the Gouff for this, and frae (from) my Clubmates sever,
I tell ye plainly to yer face ye needna think it—never;
Fareweel to a’, for I’m awa, my peace wi’ you is ended,
Unless ye gang (go) this very day, and get thae Clubs a’ mended.”
I left the house in awful scorn, their cries to come back spurning,
My heart wi’ grief and anger torn, my brain wi’ rage near turning.
That was a dull and dreary day, to breathe seemed quite a labour,
I coudna sing a lilt, or say a word to my next neebor.
When I came hame frae wark that night, my heart a’ wives reviling
Wha’s (Whose) was the first that met my sicht—my ain (own) and she was smiling.
“Oh, come awa, I’m awfu’ glad that this long day is ended,
For I ha’e been at Patrick’s, lad, and got yer Clubs a’ mended;
And there’s a Club I bought for you – he said ’twas special made, man,
The wale (choice) o’ wud, a powerfu’ shaft, and bonnie driving head, man.
Forgi’e me noo.” “I will, my doo.” And bright her face did shine;
And ever since ye coudna ha’e a better wife than mine.

Though somewhat over the top, this story is probably representative of male golfers’ attitudes in the 1880’s.

Filed Under: golf, golf history, golf humor, golf poetry, golf poetry books, humor, poetry, Scotland, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,
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“Just step up and give it a swat”

July 26, 2010 by Leave a Comment

Golf tips have become ubiquitous. Pick up a golf magazine, turn on the golf Channel, or check your favorite golf Internet sites and you are likely to be offered lots of concisely packaged ideas to improve your game. This observation led me to Tweet the following two liner a few months ago:

Golf Tip Twine

A thousand tips from Jan to December,
But when you need one, will you remember?

I do not deny that tips are seductive. But they are also often conflicting or incomplete. Sometimes they solve one problem only to create another. They are most similar to whispered betting advice, leading possibly to a few winners, but not many.

When I began playing golf, I benefited from hours of golf instruction given by PGA professionals. From there I went on to study, practice and swear. And now, many years later as a senior golfer, I just try to remember a few fundamentals as I play. At least for me, golf has become more of a game to be enjoyed and less of an application of lessons learned and tips remembered.  In short, the pressure is off.

An anonymous poet, whose poem “The Reason” in included in Lyrics of the Links (1921) by Henry Litchfield West, seems to agree with me.

The Reason

“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,
“And your swing has become very flat,
And yet you incessantly lay the ball dead.
Pray what is the reason for that?”

“In my youth,” Father William replied, “it is that
I studied and practised and swore;
But now I just step up and give it a swat—
What reason for anything more?”

Filed Under: golf, golf humor, golf instruction, golf poetry, golf poetry books, Golf Twines, humor, poetry, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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Golf and the Great War

July 19, 2010 by Leave a Comment

The American Golfer, a popular golf magazine of a 100 years ago,  included a monthly column called “Foreign Notes” written by Henry Leach, its British correspondent. Leach wrote for the magazine for many years bring its readers the golf news from Great Britain. It should not be surprising, then, that after the start of the First World War, Leach often included war news when it intersected with golf.

Leach reported on professionals, amateurs and caddies that had signed up to serve; there were many in each category. He also reported the deaths of a number of well-known golfers, men and women. And once in a while he included a story that showed how inescapable golf is even in war-time. An example from the March 1919 issue:

Shorty after the British forces occupied Bagdad (sic), a course was laid out, and when it was completed thoughts were soon turned to contemplation of the first championship of Bagdad. A competition was duly organized, and the news of it spread for miles and miles over the surrounding country where the British golfers were. . . .

An English club  professional  named Hardman, a gunner in the War and three days travel from the course, resolved to play. And with a score of 70, won. Leach ends his piece with “Such is a little romance of the war and golf.”

The American Golfer also occasionally included a poem that related to the War. In the June 1915 issue, a poet who signed as “Hari-Kari” contributed a long poem titled “Any Links in War Time.” It begins:

There’s a ceaseless pulse o’er the course all day like the throbbing of phantom drums,
And we strain our ears in the midst of our stroke for the news that never comes;
The dormy house is an hospital—it’s all that it’s wanted for;
And the oldsters play their round per day, but the boys have gone to the war.

The fourth stanza continues:

I am told three score of the Club, or more, are serving the country now,
For Colonel Bogey is no old fogey when once it comes to a row.
There’s twenty-one of the caddies gone, and we’ve lost our assistant pro;
And our greenkeeper’s son died saving his gun—he was one of the first to go.

And the poem ends with these lines:

We think no shame to stick to the game that has kept our youngsters fit
And sent them forth to the game of War with the genuine golfer’s grit.
But though perforce we stick to the course, our hearts are away in France,
As we pray that the guns may spare our sons in “the day” of the great advance.

I wonder what impact Leach’s reporting and poems like this one had on American readers of the magazine.

Note: Since I wrote this Post I have found out that “Hari-Kari” was a pseudonym used by Robert H. K. Browning. Also since writing this Post I have written three Posts that including Browning poems written under his own name.

Filed Under: golf, golf history, golf poetry, poetry, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , ,
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Remembering Tom Watson at the 2009 Open

July 12, 2010 by 1 Comment

Just after last year’s British Open I wrote a poem to commemorate Tom Watson’s memorable performance. Since then I have revised the poem slightly. You might also enjoy the poem I wrote about Doug Sanders at the 1970 Open.

Watson At Turnberry – The 2009 Open

From the tee at eighteen
He looked down towards the home hole
Like a pitcher with a one run lead looks
Toward home plate needing one more out.

As he drove his ball
We knew what the magic number was.
When the camera showed a safe white speck
We exhaled in unison and counted one.

Now it was an eight iron to the green
Or was it a nine?
A question to be answered twice,
The first time by Watson alone.

He was thinking nine but hit the eight
And as we watched with growing anxiety
The ball bounced hard and rolled too far.
We held our breath and counted two.

Again a choice: to chip or putt.
“One of the best chippers of all time,”
The words of an old pro in the booth.
But the third stroke would be a putt.

From off the green the ball raced up
Then by the hole a good eight feet.
He said he had seen grain.
Down to one, we saw trouble.

Once more a putt to win the Open,
But this was not a kid with a dream
This was a Champion Golfer five times over.
Yet now we feared the worst.

While he took two short practice strokes
We lost interest in counting
And as the ball rolled weakly off his putter
We lost all hope as well.

“I made a lousy putt,” Watson’s words;
“Then it was one bad shot after another.”
A self-stated epitaph marked the close:
“The Old Fogy Almost Did It.”

And so the golf writers lost their story
To an illustrious sage from an earlier time.
It wouldn’t be about Watson winning or losing –
But how he had played the Game.

And did he ever!

Filed Under: golf, golf course, golf history, golf poetry, poetry, putting, Scotland, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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Haskell on the Brain

July 5, 2010 by 1 Comment

The golf ball has gone through relatively few fundamental changes in the last 460 years. The first ball to be documented was wooden and was played in 1550. The feather golf ball, or “featherie” was introduced in 1618. In 1848, the Gutta Percha ball or “Guttie,” made from the rubber like sap of the Gutta tree began to be played at St. Andrews and then more widely. In 1898, Coburn Haskell introduced the one-piece rubber cored ball. By 1901 it was universally accepted. Finally in 1972 Spalding began selling the first two-piece ball, the Executive, which was the first basic improvement on Haskell’s design. Now it seems like there is a new and better ball every week, leading to the Twine:

If last week’s ball by this week’s is outdone,
We’ll soon be reaching every green in one!

Getting back to the fundamental progression in golf ball technology, the early changes at least led to conflict and controversy. The change from featherie to guttie, caused a split between Allan Robertson and Tom Morris. Morris who worked making featheries in Robertson’s shop, played a guttie one day. When Robertson got word that Morris was playing the new ball, he fired him.

The Haskell was the first new ball to be made in America. And this caused at least one British golf poet to write some verses in protest. The poem as it appeared in the magazine Punch in November 1902 is as follows:

A GROWL FROM GOLFLAND

Bores there are of various species, of the platform, of the quill,
Bores obsessed by Christian Science or the Education Bill,
But the most exasperating and intolerable bore
Is the man who talks of nothing but the latest “rubber core.”

Place him in the Great Sahara, plant him on an Arctic floe,
Or a desert island, fifteen thousand miles from Westward Ho!
Pick him up a twelvemonth later, and I’ll wager that you find
Rubber filling versus gutty still and solely on his mind.

O American invaders, I accept your beef, your boots,
Your historical romances, and your Californian fruits;
But in tones of humble protest I am tempted to exclaim,
“Can’t you draw the line at commerce, can’t you spare one British game?”

I am but a simple duffer; I am quite prepared to state
That my lowest round on record was a paltry 88;
That my partner in a foursome needs the patience of a Job,
That in moments of excitement I am apt to miss the globe.

With my brassy and my putter I am very far to seek,
Generally slice to cover with my iron and my cleek;
But I boast a single virtue: I can honestly maintain
I’ve escaped the fatal fever known as Haskell on the brain.

Filed Under: golf, golf balls, golf history, golf humor, golf poetry, Golf Twines, humor, poetry, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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