Archived Thoughts for 06/18/06

Thoughts of a Rural Woman

Hopscotch Olympics & Man Writes Poem
by The Editor, Rebecca Brown

I used dream about what sports I'd like in the Olympics: three-legged races, hopscotch, skip rope, piano tuning where baby grands are set in rows in a huge hangar (perhaps I'd seen a newsreel of the opening of the Depression era Los Angeles Olympics when all those pianists played George Gershwin's Rhaposidy in Blue), jigsaw puzzle races graduating from 550 to 1000 to 2500 to 5000 pieces in a marathon which would take weeks!

Did you know the Romans started Hopscotch? With 100 foot long courts on their newfangled roads? In full battle dress & field packs as an exercise in footwork & balance?

Naturally, little Roman children drew their own courts & added lettering & scoring, & in Britain they'd scratch the word “Londinium” at the top, as a nod to the mightiest via in the land, the Great North Road -- parts of which still exist -- a 400 mile main drag to the wilds of Scotland, &, ultimately, Hadrian's Wall.

When I was a tadpole, we'd draw on the pavement(sidewalk) or tarmac with stubs of chalk or shards of slate -- for centuries the preferred city roofing tiles -- which were still plentiful in the middens of the city. After WWII & the Battle of Britain, much slate was to be found in the bombed sites, one of which was three houses down from my home. The slate was also the “stones” of choice which we'd learn to toss into progressively further away squares & then hop over as we played the game. Hopscotch helped us practice counting, writing numbers & our names. It taught us to sight, to aim, & the path of a trajectory -- hopping three squares up to the first two-footed landing, another single-footed hop to the two-footed Londinium landing, then a pirouette & land ready for the return, balancing on one foot as we bent to collect our stone before hopping on home, plaits(braids) a-flying & skirts a-flapping.

Hopscotch comes from the obvious: “hop”, although it has nothing to do with the Scots in Glasgow. This “scotch” comes from the Old French “escocher” = to cut, which also gave us “scratch”, “scotch a rumor” & “butterscotch”: a hard candy made in sheets & “scotched” into bite-sized pieces.

Hopscotch is called “Marelles” in France, “Templehupfen” in Germany, “Hinkelbaan” in the Netherlands, “Ekaria Dukaria” in India, “Pico” in Vietnam & “Rayuela” in Argentina.

I couldn't resist this one -- sports commentators gushing over a man writing a poem -- sheer delight! Jay Leeming's hilarious poem is from his book: Dynamite on a China Plate, published by The Backwaters Press, & reprinted with permission of the author. It came to me via The Writer's Almanac:

Man Writes Poem

This just in a man has begun writing a poem
in a small room in Brooklyn. His curtains
are apparently blowing in the breeze. We go now
to our man Harry on the scene, what's

the story down there Harry? “Well Chuck
he has begun the second stanza and seems
to be doing fine, he's using a blue pen, most
poets these days use blue or black ink so blue

is a fine choice. His curtains are indeed blowing
in a breeze of some kind and what's more his radiator
is ‘whistling’ somewhat. No metaphors have been written yet,
but I'm sure he's rummaging around down there

in the tin cans of his soul and will turn up something
for us soon. Hang on -- just breaking news here Chuck,
there are ‘birds singing’ outside his window, and a car
with a bad muffler has just gone by. Yes... definitely

a confirmation on the singing birds.” Excuse me Harry
but the poem seems to be taking on a very auditory quality
at this point wouldn't you say? “Yes Chuck, you're right,
but after years of experience I would hesitate to predict

exactly where this poem is going to go. Why I remember
being on the scene with Frost in '47, and with Stevens in '53,
and if there's one thing about poems these days it's that
hang on, something's happening here, he's just compared the curtains

to his mother, and he's described the radiator as ‘Roaring deep
with the red walrus of History.’ Now that's a key line,
especially appearing here, somewhat late in the poem,
when all of the similes are about to go home. In fact he seems

a bit knocked out with the effort of writing that line,
and who wouldn't be? Looks like... yes, he's put down his pen
and has gone to brush his teeth. Back to you Chuck.” Well
thanks Harry. Wow, the life of the artist. That's it for now,

but we'll keep you informed of more details as they arise.

You can find Jay Leeming at: www.JayLeeming.com

It's important, now & again, to be a little silly, to think the box into a mad circle, to lick the envelope before pushing it.

Rebecca