Part of the Olympic Games festivities in London began today, with the first day of a week-long “Poetry Parnassus”–a gathering of some 204 poets, one from each country entering the games. Take a look here, at an interactive map of poems. I have sampled a dozen or so, and have come to a very familiar conclusion:
Poetry no longer rhymes.
I love the Olympic Games. I have followed them since I can remember–the first I really remember were the 1968 Mexico City games. Memory being what it is, I don’t know how much I really remember, and how much is confabulated from later information–I do remember one gas station (Marathon) was giving away olympics placemats and mugs–but I was well aware, and following, and was excited about Beamon’s long jump, although I probably couldn’t have told you *why*. 1972 was far more memorable, of course, sadly not just for Mark Spitz and Olga Korbut (and the gold medal basketball game!), but for terrorism.
I ran at the Olympic Stadium. Not “an” Olympic stadium, but the stadium at Olympia.
I did not win.
Had I heard of the Poetry Parnassus in time, I’d have entered, and I would not have won. Poetry no longer rhymes.
(actually, I have not checked all 204 poems; if you find one that rhymes, let me know and I shall eat my hat.)
One of these years, I am going to make it to the games. Meanwhile, I am happy that the technology is improving, and I will get to see more of them in real time.