|Legs like Buttah!|
It looks completely effortless and rhythmic; some might even go so far as to say it is as smooth as Barbra Streisand's legs... "Like buttah!" (Ooops, I think I'm dating myself :) ).
Anyway, back to golf...
Except for my comments on The Big Easy, I don't ever remember using the words poetry and golf in the same sentence. But since I discovered Leon White's book, Golf Course of Rhymes (Links between Golf and Poetry Thought the Ages), I can see how poetic golf really is.
Dr. White's book is a wonderful collection of poems and songs about golf dating back centuries. But it's not just a book of poetry; it if full of historical gems from the famous and infamous men and women who share our addiction to this sport. Did you know that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a golf poet? Or that women's golf started with Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots? Did you know there are at least 11 different ways to spell golf?
I am not someone who reads a lot of poetry, but I really love this book. It's organized so that each chapter is a hole on an 18-hole course, including a practice tee chapter and, of course, the 19th "watering" hole.
There are funny poems, sad ones and ones you have to read a few times to figure them out. But as the author encourages more than once, you should read them out loud to truly appreciate them. It's a bit tricky with the ones riddled with Scottish dialect (he does offer translation), but reading them out loud, you can't help but put on an accent, which leaves you smiling your way through the stanzas.
One of my favorites in the book speaks to me of heartache and happiness (which is what golf is all about); it was published in The American Golfer back in 1915:
My drive is erratic, my brassie’s the same,So if you are looking for a gift for someone who loves the links, I would highly recommend Golf Course of Rhymes. It's a fun and entertaining read that will also teach you things you probably never knew about the history of golf and those who loved to hate it...and hated to live without it.
My irons atrocious, and awful my aim,
My mashie is fearful, my putting worse still,
My scores have the look of a dressmaker’s bill;
My legs are a-weary, my wrists are quite lame,
But I am most happy, — I’m playing the game.
But it's not just oldies but goodies...there are poems about Tiger's chip from behind the 16th green on the final day of the 2005 Masters and even one about Michelle Wie's quest to beat the pros in pants.
As Robert Trent Jones Jr. said in his forward in the book, Golf Course of Rhymes "is the best round of golf you will ever play without swinging a club."
I couldn't agree more.