In honor of the Superbowl once again taking place in New Orleans, I have here transcribed a poem wri
In honor of the Superbowl once again taking place in New Orleans, I have here transcribed a poem written in January 1997 (from the MS pictured above, dated to the last quarter of the 20th century), the day I became a football fan and, coincidentally, started writing in proto-Anglo-Saxon meter: Mind is framed, onesidedly; Whose fault is it, that victory? The coach can tell you through joyful tears: Faces as the Banner sings, eyes are nervous, narrowed, but as the booming voice so tells me, “The QB’s calm, the QB’s free.” And so one man so humbly looks up and down as Banner sings, his face well-formed and I like his hair (I love those sideburns) Why the sighted stay so long? Oh well, I guess he looks a little like – yes, he does, but older – and so as the sighted others watch, to him I was to hold. Not bad, I suppose; lofty one’s playing – to the line up pick I guess I would. Then later as the tension fades in the bayou waters which they wade, adjusting mouthpiece yonder, the well-formed face I’d know before I did not have to ponder… it cannot be, but it is! the Banner in my mind to carve: the first one that keeps me glued, of course, is none other than… -- source link
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