The poem
In the Shreve High football stadium, I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville, And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood, And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel, Dreaming of heroes.
All the proud fathers are ashamed to go home. Their women cluck like starved pullets, Dying for love.
Therefore, Their sons grow suicidally beautiful At the beginning of October, And gallop terribly against each other's bodies.
The moment I read this poem, my mind jumped back to last October when my friend commited suicide. I know that this poem was probably not intended to be about death, but I have found my own meaning with this. It's incredible.
*parker
This poem is one of my all time favorites. The way that Wright describes this town is right on. It is a place that lives and dies through football. His ability to describe this place through one sport he doesn't even name completely is amazing!
I read it as a high schooler when on a field trip to the Smithsonian. At that time, it was a highlighted quote in the history museum, my fave place. The imagery is unforgettable. It was brought to my mind today after standing on the sidelines of a boys soccer game, watching the "beautiful bodies clashing" but not quite so suicidally! ;-)
great site - so thankful for this!
carol
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