Happy New Year!
A New Year, an empty brain.
Travelling on the Dublin to Cork train.
Catching up on the previous Sunday’s papers.
Beguiled, by Wolves’ woeful form, and Beowulf’s capers.
The following poem : an unjustly juxtuposition, perhaps.
It was fashioned after falling asleep on the train, having just read two totally different, and totally unrelated stories.
One, was concerning Wolves’ faltering form in the First Division this season (and their perennial failure to get out of said division).
The second, was a fascinating account, about how an American academic has found a translation of the olde English poem, Beowulf, by J R R Tolkien (he of Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, fame).
Written in Old English about 1100 AD, Beowulf describes the adventures of a great Scandinavian warrior of the sixth century.
The article then went on, to compare one of Tolkien’s passages, (about the the passage of Beowulf and his men, setting sail for England), directly with the same excerpt as translated by Seamus Heaney’s Whitbread prize winning version of the same poem.
From my befuddled awakening, I’ve transposed bits of both poems, with some of what must be the frustrations of being a Wolves fan.
The article was from page 3 of the Sunday Times, 29th Dec 2002.
Woeful Wanderers, wish for Beowulf
breakers smash, amidst the surf
waves crash and malcontents curse
we watch, warriors of the turf
far removed, from rivals in verse
churning shingle, as fans mingle
shifting sands, fluctuating form, but still there’s such a tingle
Old Gold shirts, housing heavy hearts
travel shorewards, in their legions
fuelled by hope and a belief that counterparts
could yet suffer, in these coastal regions
brave men board, their mode of transport
examine their listed army
appraise their beleagured leader, then with many a consort
foolishly debate, that which drives them barmy
away with a will, a wish for a win
triumphant in their travels?
fleet foam flicks, waves roll in (if only the goals would)
Wolves at the door, as the tension unravels …
Here’s wishing a Happy, Healthy, and Peaceful New Year to everyone.
To all those struggling : the hope of survival
To all those treading water : the wish for revival
For all those challenging : the taste of success
For those who’ve already triumphed : a little less noblesse
About This Site
Welcome to Football Poets -- a club for all football poets, lovers of football and lovers of (alternative) poetry. Discover poets in every league from respected internationals at the top of their game to young hopefuls in the school playground.
Publish your football poems here and then discuss them with your team mates and fans. We're archived by The British Library, so your masterpieces are in the safe hands of a world-class keeper. What a result!
My Account
Latest Poems
Gacina Bozidar
3rd February 2023
Gacina Bozidar
3rd February 2023
joe morris
3rd February 2023
Stuart Butler
2nd February 2023
Denys E. W. Jones
30th January 2023
joe morris
29th January 2023
Crispin Thomas
25th January 2023
joe morris
23rd January 2023
Denys E. W. Jones
23rd January 2023
joe morris
14th January 2023
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
5th December 2022 at 8:11 pm
Stuart, you are not alone, in your dichotomy of doubt
but without dissention
you stand alone
in hogging our attention!
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16th November 2022 at 11:04 am
[Football on soiled turf]
This is a wonderful phrase which I shall be using from now on!
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15th November 2022 at 3:54 pm
Well said Crispin. One of the reasons for The Ball 2022/23 is exactly this – that FIFA need to know. The Ball is essentially a petition to FIFA to honour their commitments to the UN Sports for Climate Action Framework. They signed up; they should act. The Qatar tournament takes the World Cup in the opposite direction to that commitment. And 2026 looks like it’ll be even worse.
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8th November 2022 at 2:06 pm
Hi Guys
Re ‘Lets Boycott Qatar ‘ poem
You probably hate me banging on..and problably know (like me) that my/your not watching the World Cup in Qatar will make no difference.
Of course it won’t. That’s not the point.
OK someone might possibly eventually publish a minimal drop in terrestrial TV viewer numbers, but I fear that is unlikely.
But please above all, do go on writing poems about the World Cup, as/you we have always done. I hate to think a poem or two of mine might l make you feel bad about comenting on a game or country …or that I’ve put you all off about wanting to contribute.
So we’d love to hear from you and read your thoughts and observations, as ever on what’s going on.
Some of us have been here since Football Poets website birth/inception for the Euros 2000 ….
All my best wishes
Crispin
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18th October 2022 at 10:06 am
Shoot! (Something we’ve also been screaming in vain at our team all season !)
Great memories Joe . Before Shoot, it was Roy of the Rovers comic too, dropping through my letterbox.
Anxiously waiting each week to see if they survived in the mexcian jungle after an ambush..or a pre-season earthquake!
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3rd October 2022 at 8:32 pm
Thanks for the kind words Sharon. Yes, it was a shame with Billy Shako, but with five subs now being allowed, he might yet make it off the bench. Even if it’s just a cameo to close out a poem.
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2nd October 2022 at 1:49 pm
John, your new book is an absolute delight and more please. It’s a shame ‘Swapping Shirts With Shakespeare’ never made it off the bench, but quality football poets light up the writing fields like Roman candles. Go well.
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4th September 2022 at 12:42 pm
Great memories Greg. Took me right back.
Today I stand on a small terrace in the hills where I live watching Forest Green Rovers in L1, and keep up with Chelsea on highlights. It’s a far cry and a world away from those times when I lived as a child within walking distance of ‘The Bridge’ – just off the Ifield Road, which led to Fulham Road. The Blues were rubbish for so long, but we loved them and somehow we stayed in the old First Division for so many seasons. And of course we got to see Greavesie at his impudent best, scoring goals for fun. Mad unpredictable games where we’d score 4 and let in five.
The looming floodlights in the dark and mist on magic night games. The big games when the ground heaved.
I don’t think we ever realized how magical and incredible it was back then. The atmosphere and arriving there so early – like you said.. just to make sure you got in. Back when Bovril, tea and cake and roasted peanuts for sixpence a back were just about all on offer.
Good times.
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4th September 2022 at 12:37 pm
see above
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18th August 2022 at 10:20 am
To put it politely!
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