Tuesday Poem: Catches I Have Dropped by Scott Kendrick

Catches I Have Dropped
For John Y, who understands.

Catches I Have Dropped
xxis a longer poem than
Catches I Have Taken.

For starters, well –
xxthat one on the boundary;
xxthe skull-ricochet skimming over for six...

Then there was Davis.
First senior match
xxand Davis, off balance, clips up a catch
xxto square leg – that’s me, the goggle-eyed sucker
xxwith knees set on ‘quiver’, arsehole on ‘pucker’
xxcoz it’s Davis, the legend, the regional rep.
He’s trialed for CD.
He’s only on three.
At square leg there’s me.
I didn’t have to move; it was chest high and looping,
xxa lolly-drop dolly in slow-motion,
xxdrooping
xxstraight at me,
xxstraight to me,
xxand then strangely – straight through me.
He went on to a hundred and thirty four.
I got sent to the outfield – dropped two more.

England.
August.
A field full of Poms,
xxin theory, my team-mates).
I’m plodding mid-on.
There’s nine more runs needed, we’re after two wickets.
The opener’s made eighty, been rattling the pickets
xxwhen he scoops it, quite firmly,
xxbut fairly straight-forward –
xxa gimme, a sitter,
xxa kitty in litter.
I reverse-cup; it pops
xxfrom my hands,

xxhangs,

xxand drops
xxso I grab for it, jab it
xxwith fingers of moss,
xxit spits forward – but heroically
xxI swing out an arm
xxto swat it (quite sweetly)
xxwith the flat of my palm...

Then on hands and on knees,
xxwith a gut-sucking awe,
xxI watch it skip down the outfield slope for four.

The bowler screams ‘You incompetent Kiwi prick!’
xxand he spits with great purpose. I look away quick
xxas he rages – a luminous, furious pink:
xxthe next ball goes for six. The opener buys me a drink

Yeah, I’ve dropped them all – there’s nothing, naught,
xxthat I haven’t at some crucial point not caught:
xxthe thick-edging flyers, the spooners, the grabbers,
xxthe lurch-swirling skyers, the skimmers – Oh Jesus!

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
It plunges at me, spinning, sizzling, whistling.
If, during after-match beers, you too
Could hear once again of the slow, looping sitter
You put down, and know then the laughter and bitter
Abuse of your team-mates, the merciless jibes
That sting like a quick one that bruises the thigh,
My friend, you would not mock with such high zest
Those fielders whose fingers have fumbled in shame.
For it’s wrong what they say, it’s a damned lie at best –
Cricket is not always a funny game.


Scott Kendrick is a poet, cricket fan, and father of two small boys who may follow in his cricketing passion, but I'm hoping they'll rather follow him into poetry. He has published two collections of poetry: Rhyme Before Reason (HeadworX, 2001) and Cold Comfort, Cold Concrete: Poems & Satires (Seraph Press, 2007).

'Catches I Have Dropped' is my favourite cricketing poem. I'm not much of a cricket fan, but if you've played any team ball sport you'll understand this poem. The pressure. The humiliation. I enjoy the poem's galloping rhythm and the rhyme that makes a funny poem funnier. I also enjoy the mock epic tone at the end. There's even allusions to Wilfred Owen ('Dulce et Decorum Est' - a much more serious poem) in the final stanza.

An earlier version of 'Catches I Have Dropped' was in Cold Comfort, Cold Concrete: Poems & Satires, but this version is in 'A Tingling Catch': A Century of New Zealand Cricket Poems 1864–2009, edited by Mark Pirie. This is, apparently, probably the first national anthology of cricket poems - other cricket poem anthologies have been international. And apparently there is a lot of cricket poetry out there. Cricket seems to attract more literary types than other sports, curiously. I'll leave it to others to consider why that might be.

I went along to the launch of the anthology at the Long Room at Basin Reserve. This was a big deal, I discovered from my co-attendees, who kept breathily making comments about being in the Long Room at Basin Reserve. But even I, ignorant as I am, knew it was a big deal when Don Neely, NZ cricket legend, took off his New Zealand Cricket tie and gave it to Mark.

Mark was working on the anthology for several years, and had to cut back from his original selection. He's started a blog for the anthology, and will be publishing things he had to miss out and other cricket-related literature: http://tinglingcatch.blogspot.com/

And for more Tuesday poems, visit the Tuesday Poem blog: http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/

Tuesday poem: 'Battle Rattle Sally' by Scott Kendrick

Battle Rattle Sally
by Scott Kendrick


(If you can't view it here, you'll also find this video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jnOnMa8ZbwI)

To celebrate getting broadband, one of the first things I did was to upload this video I made of Scott Kendrick performing this poem, impromptu, at his mumblemumble birthday last year. Where other people chant 'Speech, speech!' we chanted 'Poem, poem!' and we got what we wanted. Anyway, I quickly realised the version I'd uploaded was the wrong one, and this evening uploaded the proper version.

Battle Rattle Sally is from Scott's book Cold Comfort, Cold Concrete: Poems and Satires, published by Seraph Press (ie me) back in 2007. It's short, sweet, has a great rhythm, and was short enough for Scott to be able to remember this far into his party, which is quite an achievement.

Now that I'm on broadband, I have great plans of making and uploading more poetry videos, and of expanding the directory I was trying to create at NZ poets on video. We'll see if that actually happens, but I have good intentions.

Hope you enjoy this. More poems at the Tuesday Poem blog: http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/

Tuesday Poem: Biograph, by Scott Kendrick

Biograph

By Scott Kendrick

Chapter 1 – Early Days

First Name Second Name Last Name was born.
In that era, it was common practice.
A sickly, stunted child, Last Name quickly.
Even at school, the young First Name often.
Friends from that time say he was never the sort.
A teacher recalled a typical example.
In the holidays, a job in his uncle’s shop.

Chapter 2 – The Watershed

It was at university, however.
Here, Last Name discovered for the first time.
Inspired by his new-found freedoms, he completed.
But even then, the political climate.
Recalled Last Name, “It was a time.”
From that point on, Last Name’s mind was.
But for the ambitious young man, there remained the problem.
So Last Name returned.
It was a decision that was.
Would the future bring?
Or would it?

Chapter 3 – The Arrow Flies

The tensions were evident from the moment Last Name.
Despite these setbacks, however, he never once thought.
It was simply not his way to.
Disappointed, but more determined than ever, Last Name approached.
And so, at A Specified Age, First Name Second Name Last Name became.
Said Last Name at the time, “It’s simply not.”
But if he could have known then, would he still?
This is a question.

Chapter 4 – What Price Success?

The critical and commercial reaction was.
Although Last Name feigned indifference, it came as no surprise.
Family and friends found him.
It was during this time that the drinking.
In an interview, Last Name said “I”.
In A Specified Year, buoyed by his success, Last Name made the fateful.
It was to be the last time.

Chapter 5 – The Backlash

The public response was.
Hitting out angrily at his critics, Last Name accused.
Furiously, he began.
But the new work wouldn’t.
Again, Last Name turned to the bottle, but this time.
By now Last Name’s physical appearance shocked even.
Worried for his health, his friends tried.
“He just didn’t care,” said Footnote Friend, “no matter how.”
There seemed to be no way.

Chapter 6 – Final Days

On A Specified Date, Last Name visited.
The diagnosis was.
Last Name, however, was determined to.
Throwing himself into his work.
And there was to be another.
After A Specified Number of Years, Last Name and Footnote Friend at last.
Despite his rapidly declining health, Last Name.
A Specified Amount Of Time before he died, Last Name.
It was to become known as his finest.
On A Specified Date, First Name Second Name Last Name finally succumbed.
But even in death, Last Name.
As he said, just hours before.
“I was.”

Scott Kendrick is a poet who is, in my opinion, vastly under-rated. Some of this is his fault, some of it is mine, and some of it is just the way it is.

He' s a poet who isn't afraid to rhyme, and who knows how to do it in just such a way that it gets past my oh-my-god-it-rhymes-and-therefore-is-either-terrible-or-written-100-years-ago meter. Usually it does this through being brutally funny.

He's great on the page, and especially awesome in performance. He wins poetry slams. I like his work so much that I published his second book Cold Comfort, Cold Concrete: Poems and Satires in 2007. (His first book, Rhyme Before Reason, was published by HeadworX in 2001.)

The above poem is from Cold Comfort, Cold Concrete, along with poems about United States’ foreign policy, materialistic culture, love, student loans and cricket. Flip the book over and you have satires, originally published in the underground satirical newspaper The Babylon Express.

Around about the time I published Cold Comfort, Cold Concrete, he moved to Otaki and started having children, which has curtailed his writing somewhat, but he'll be back.

Montana Poetry Day 2009

This year Montana Poetry Day* is coming up in a few weeks on the 24th of July. Lots of poetry events will be occurring around NZ, books will be launched and the winners of the poetry sections of the books awards will be announced.

As I mentioned in a previous post, as part of a new initiative, my Seraph Press website and the JAAM website are both featuring Poetry Day poems from recent publications on their front pages. Seraph Press features 'Biograph' by Scott Kendrick, from Cold Comfort, Cold Concrete: Poems & Satires – the last book I published. JAAM features 'come here at once' by Emma Barnes, which was published in JAAM 26. Check them out - they're both great, and quite different from each other.

If you're looking for other ways to celebrate Montana Poetry Day, visit the official site or NZLive.com.

*(For overseas readers, Montana is the name of a wine brand, which sponsors the day, and has nothing to do with Montana the state.)

New video poem by Meliors Simms

I had another new addition to my New Zealand Poets on Video YouTube group – http://www.youtube.com/group/NZPoetsonvideo – last week: 'Daintree Calling' by Meliors Simms. I've duly added it to my still-rather-undeveloped directory of New Zealand Poets on Video (http://nzpoetsonvideo.wordpress.com/), and am challenged to get myself going on a new video too.

I have one pretty much ready - though this one was a bit easier than my last effort, as this is just a video of an impromptu performance of a poem by Scott Kendrick at his birthday party – where normally people would yell 'speech!', they yelled 'poem!', and after only a few moments of hesitation, he performed 'Battle Rattle Sally', from Cold Comfort, Cold Concrete. All I really had to do was add titles. So expect this to be up on YouTube soon.

Review of Cold Comfort, Cold Concrete, by Scott Kendrick

The latest issue of the Poetry Society’s magazine, A Fine Line, contains a positive review of Seraph Press’s latest publication: Cold Comfort, Cold Concrete: Poems & Satires, by Scott Kendrick.

Bernard Gadd (who unfortunately passed away last month), says:

[…] Kendrick displays a deft competence with rhyme and rhythm. He’s a useful writer for the times, his satires and barbs often being aimed at the nonsense that’s in our minds courtesy of corporate-dominated media. Readers may find themselves even reeling back in horror or shock at some of the things to be found here. And that’s as it should be … there’s plenty in our world to be horrified about.

Anne Sexton and learning not to be afraid of rhyme

As I said in my last post, I’ve been reading a lot about Anne Sexton and her poetry lately.

She’s a poet whose work I didn’t know very well until now, though I did read her collection Transformations – which is retellings of fairy tales – when I was writing my masters thesis almost 10 years ago (Fairy Tale Intertextuality in Margaret Atwood’s Fiction).

At the time, I found them too bitter.

This time around I’m enjoying her early work a lot. Her language is deliciously rich and full of metaphor – and often also humour. Admittedly, some of her work can be hard going: she was a pioneering ‘confessional’ poet – a lot of her work draws on her own experience (though generally fictionalised in one way or another) and her experience included severe depression, suicide attempts and hospitalisation. Pretty brave stuff to write about back there in the 50s.

One thing that has struck me about her work is her use of rhyme – or rather, it didn’t strike me, because it’s used so subtly. I read the poem ‘Unknown Girl in the Maternity Ward’ all the way through its five stanzas before I realised it rhymes with a strict ABABABABABA scheme.

Child, the current of your breath is six days long.
You lie, a small knuckle on my white bed;
lie, fisted like a snail, so small and strong
at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed
with love. At first hunger is not wrong.
The nurses nod their caps; you are shepherded
down starch halls with the other unnested throng
in wheeling baskets. You tip like a cup; your head
moving to my touch. You sense the way we belong.
But this is an institution bed.
You will not know me very long.
(from ‘Unknown Girl in the Maternity Ward’, by Anne Sexton.)

Sexton said she liked to use strict rhyme schemes, particularly in her early work, as a way of containing the strong emotion. The harder something was to write about, the more restrictive the scheme.

Rhyme is something I’ve generally avoided in poetry. I have a suspicion that the probability of a modern poem being bad increases ten-fold if it rhymes. That said, I certainly don’t write rhyming poetry off completely, though the contemporary rhyming poets I most enjoy tend to use rhyme to add humour: people like Wendy Cope, Harry Ricketts and Scott Kendrick (shameless Seraph Press plug):

So I wrote up a letter saying “I can’t pay;
I feel real sick – might die today.”
They sent back, “Oh we thought you knew
Where clause seven dash six one point two
Says: The client shall not be mislead
Into thinking it’s over when they’re dead.
If your soul’s off tripping in a heavenly way
We’ll work it out so you can pay

Your student loan, which as was shown,
Is taut and tight and tanned and toned.
The rivers may cut away the stone,
But nothing’s gonna cut your student loan.”
(from ‘Song of the Student Loan’, by Scott Kendrick)

Until a few years ago, if even an internal rhyme had accidentally slunk into a line of my own poetry, I’d exorcise it as soon as I noticed. But lately I’ve become brave enough to play with internal rhyme deliberately. (Though one editor seemed to assume that my carefully constructed internal rhyme running over three lines was some kind of unfortunate accident.) So you never know, maybe I’m on my own slippery slope to rhymingdom.