Right-Arm Medium - revised

[ray miller]

Revision

You were never out to find yourself,
just studied the action of somebody else.
Whether down the Rec or in the nets,
at an open mic, with this stuff you write,
you were out to bowl them over vicariously.
As if the audience wore pads and gloves,
a cap and box and you’ve only balls
and a batting order to jog your memory.
Who else could you be?

Them quickies deliver with bounce and fizz,
causing injuries to arms and ribs.
Take your run-up from inside the boundary,
feels like you’ve come from another county.
In the time it takes you to get to the wicket
the batsman’s a giant and you’re a midget;
you try too hard, pitch way too short
and the bastard lofts you over mid- off.

Spin then
flight and guile
the slow art of deception

poise and control, mesmerise
toss the ball airward
utilise

white space

the flipper the googly the chinaman
and the one that goes
straight on with the arm
is the joke
that nobody gets
is your punchline fallen flat
the batsman charging down the crease
the punters shifting in their seats

uneasily.

You settle in between, about average, mean;
a little polish and you seem to swing.
Keep that regular line and length,
slight variations in pace and then
your metier is right arm medium.


Original

You were never out to find yourself,
just studied the action of somebody else.
Whether down the Rec, in the practice nets,
at an open mic, with this stuff you write,
you were out to bowl them over vicariously.
As if the audience wore pads and gloves,
a cap and box and you’ve only balls
and a batting order to jog your memory.
Who else could you be?

Them quickies deliver with bounce and fizz,
causing injuries to arms and ribs.
Take your run-up from just in the boundary,
feels like you’ve come from another county.
In the time it takes you to get to the wicket
the batsman’s a giant and you’re a midget;
you try too hard, pitch way too short
and the batsman lofts you over mid- off.

Spin then
flight and guile
the slow art of deception

poise and control, mesmerise
toss the ball airward
utilise

white space

the flipper the googly the chinaman
and the one that goes
straight on with the arm
is the joke
that nobody gets
is your punchline fallen flat
the batsman charging down the crease
the punters shifting in their seats

uneasily.

You settle in between, about average, mean;
a little polish and you appear to swing.
Keep that regular line and length,
slight variations in pace and then
your metier is right arm medium.

[Macavity]

Entertaining Ray. The metaphor ticks parallels. Especially like utilise white space. The long run up (Holding/Willis come to mind). The last line is nice, but perhaps a more conclusive, personal end...something about being wicketless, that kind of anonymity that returns figures of none for very little? As you say average. Particularly liked the leg spin section.

[NotQuiteSure]

Hi ray,
poem of two halves, for me. The first two stanzas (do you really need 'practice'?) don't do that much, but the rest works really well (though I kept on misreading 'metier' as 'meter'.) I particularly liked 'and the one that ... nobody gets'.

Over or around the stumps?

Regards, Not

.

[Lia]

Some very skilled writing here, Ray. I think it's smashing. I'll put it up, hang on...

You were never out to find yourself,
just studied the action of somebody else.
Whether down the Rec, in the practice nets,
at an open mic, with this stuff you write,
you were out to bowl them over vicariously.
As if the audience wore pads and gloves,
a cap and box and you’ve only balls
and a batting order to jog your memory.
Who else could you be?

I enjoy the gradual shift into the cricket metaphor in the first stanza. I only wonder about the last line of it "Who else could you be?" Is the line necessary? What's your reasoning behind it - perhaps it's reflecting on the first line?

Them quickies deliver with bounce and fizz,
causing injuries to arms and ribs.
Take your run-up from just in the boundary, ...what if you said,

Take your run-up from inside the boundary,

? I think the boundary implies the 'just' already.

feels like you’ve come from another county.
In the time it takes you to get to the wicket
the batsman’s a giant and you’re a midget;
you try too hard, pitch way too short
and the batsman lofts you over mid- off. .... all of this is brilliant.

Spin then
flight and guile
the slow art of deception ... would you consider losing 'the'?

poise and control, mesmerise
toss the ball airward
utilise

By the way, I love how the form changes.

white space

the flipper the googly the chinaman
and the one that goes
straight on with the arm
is the joke
that nobody gets
is your punchline fallen flat
the batsman charging down the crease
the punters shifting in their seats

uneasily. I'm enjoying all of this, Ray.

You settle in between, about average, mean;
a little polish and you appear to swing.
Keep that regular line and length,
slight variations in pace and then
your metier is right arm medium.

The only thing I wondered here, in this stanza, is whether you should stay with the looser free-verse and lack of punctuation...? It would mean more line-breaks (I'll leave this thought up, but I'm questioning myself at the moment and thinking that this last S is fine the way it is).

Beautifully done.

Lia

[ray miller]

Thanks for the comments. I'm just back from baby-sitting duties in Portugal and I'll get round to revising, perhaps, in a few days.

[Lia]

Baby-sitting in Portugal doesn't sound like a duty at all, Ray!

[ray miller]

Baby-sitting in Portugal doesn't sound like a duty at all, Ray!

One of my daughters lives in Portugal and is in the early stages of her 3rd pregnancy. She was suffering badly with sickness and tiredness and finding it difficult to look after the two little ones. So I volunteered to help out. I'm knackered.

I made a few minor adjustments to the poem.

[NotQuiteSure]

Hi ray,
just niggles really.
But first, I should have saluted L7 earlier (box and balls! Really )


at open mics, with all this stuff you write,

Them quickies deliver with bounce and fizz,
quickies doesn't work for me, got to be something better, surely?

Them bouncers deliverd with vim and fizz

causing injuries to arms and ribs.
Perhaps/either heads/pride and ribs ?

and the batsman lofts you over mid- off.
Not keen on the two batsmen being so proximate. Might this one not be a bastard?

flight and guile
guile and flight?


slight variations in pace and then
To me this feels a bit like filler, and I don't think it flows that well into the next line.


I wondered about

is your punchline fallen flat
the batsman charging down the crease
the punters shifting in their seats

uneasily. A bit of sledging.


Regards, Not

.

[ray miller]

Not, thanks for coming back. Quickies - the poem is half cricket pitch, half poetry open mic, so quickies is also referring to those poets, rappers even, who rattle off stuff.
I like the suggestion of bastard very much.
Sledging is generally directed at the batsman. The equivalent would be heckling but I'm supposed to be the bowler.

[NotQuiteSure]

Hi ray,
Quickies - this I did not know.

The equivalent would be heckling but I'm supposed to be the bowler.
Even better

Regards, Not

.