Poetic paraphrase of Vladimir Nabokov's reflections on goalkeeping with a nod to Camus.

Between the Posts

crazy about goalkeeping
in Russia and the Latin countries
the gallant art is surrounded
with a halo of singular glamour

aloof, solitary, impassive
the crack goalie is followed in the streets
by entranced small boys
he vies with the matador and the flying ace
an object of thrilled adulation

his number (1)
his cap
his gloves (in the hip pocket of his shorts)
set him apart from the rest of the team

he is the lone eagle
the man of mystery
the last defender

photographers reverently bend the knee
snap him in the act
making a spectacular dive
across the goal mouth
to deflect with his fingertips
a low, lightning-fast shot

the stadium roars in approval
he remains for a moment or two
lying full length where he fell
his goal still intact

Poetry by Wumbulu
Read 745 times
Written on 2019-07-11 at 09:01

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