Getting Artsy

Some of those who are closest to me know that one of my more inconspicuous hobbies is writing. At the encouragement of a quantitative methods professor I had during my first year of MBA school, I began jotting down poems as a means of accessing the more creative side of my brain. Since it’s always on my mind, rowing dominates much of this expression. Below is a poem I wrote on June 17 after a long night erging in the garage.

June 17, 2006

Tonight I feel a long way from Eton,
Far from the anxious crowds,
Who watch, wait, and crescendo as one,
As their pensive pontifications play out in performances of passion.

I cannot yet see those buoyed lines,
But I am familiar with the chaos they bound,
The coxswains issuing urgent orders,
Athletes groaning, straining, and locking again at the catch,
Blades holding, oars bowing,
And finishes thundering out like 9 pound hammers on steel.

I am a long way from Eton,
Where bodies will be stretched to the tune of the will,
Where some will be broken by the fevered pitch,
And where Heart, not hearts, will win the day.

But here, in Columbus, it’s quiet.
There’s just the rhythmic whirring of one fan in a stuffy garage,
The occasional outburst of neighbors enjoying the summer night,
And the relentless chirping of crickets oblivious to my labor.

Here, now, there is only me:
One set of legs pushing back against the stretchers,
One pair of lungs drinking deeply of hot heavy air,
One heart beating strong to feed my fury.

I am a long way from Eton,
But I’m drawing nearer with every stroke.