Poet. Published. Paid
I just got a little check in the mail from Runner Triathlete News. They published a poem of mine in their May magazine. So today's a big day, even though the check's not going to put either of the boys through college. I'm stoked that somebody thought it was good enough to put in their magazine and back it up with a little financial love, too.
I took a poetry class in my department about a year and a half ago. I didn't really like poetry that much because I always thought I had to understand it. But I knew this prof was a really good teacher so I took his class. Well, it opened up a whole new world for me. I have a few classmates who are published poets, too, and I mean books of poetry, not one or two poems. I asked one of them, Murat Rodríguez, what made him write a poem. He said when you have a personal experience that's so powerful you can't really explain it with a story, but you still want to memorialize it, you try to capture it poetically.
So one of the first things I thought about as a theme for poetry was endurance sports: triathlon, cycling, running. You're out there on the road or in the pool for hours and hours with little snippets of fear, motivation, pain, doubt, prayer, jubilation, you name it- sloshing around in your endorphin-soaked conscience. These are experiences that, it seems to me, just beg to be framed poetically. So that's what I try to do as a Poeta deportista (Sports poet).
Here's my published poem. I have several others in case Simon and Schuster call.
Sprint Triathlon Odyssey
Shoes yawn open – helmet perched on handlebars
I look back at the bike rack like Mom’s last glance at day-care
Responsible adults don’t do these things
My doubts and a full bladder bother me like the pink-eye
Nausea surfs a wave of Port-a-potty smell
Clutching my cap and goggles I steal a last good-luck kiss
Take baby steps with soft bare feet on asphalt
Countdown, airhorn, run and plunge into boiling elbow soup
Face to face another face sucking air
I’ll see your kick to the head and raise you a face shot
frantic arms settle to easy rhythm
The prehistoric language of splashing water subsides
I am born ashore on wobbly frog legs
A clumsy amphibian I struggle to tame the bike
as the lake’s birth fluid burns in my eyes
A hot wind whips past my ears black rubber hums on chip seal
My bare thighs were born to turn these pedals
Adrenaline, then dull pain invades the heart / lung motor
and sears the drive train of quads and hamstrings
I loosen shoes and dismount with more asphalt baby steps
I rack my bike over a wobbly pipe
The hamstrings are spoiled kids who would rather eat ice cream
I promise them a trip to Disneyworld
The taste of sweat is replaced by plastic flavored water
and my 5K stride and breathing smooth out
Some runner dude bounds past me A pox on all relay guys
Don’t tell people you did a triathlon
Math and Logic collude to figure a finish time
while the Flesh screams at me to stop running
Lead legs burn, lungs vacuumed out I’ve got nothing in the tank
Promised land of a balloon arch and noise
My name through a loudspeaker is like a Red Bull I.V.
and I fake a fast, effortless finish
(C) 2009 Mark McGraw
