Бильярдная поэзия - Дэвид Смит - Англ.

Бильярдная поэзия - Дэвид Смит - на английском языке

Yesterdays players

Yesterdays players are a memory that fades from view
Replaced by modern wielders of the skilful cue
Billiards was a game of grace and touch
Now the game is no longer played so much
What were they like these famous men, who stood for hours in the public’s gaze?
They fought long and hard to make a living from concentrated effort on the green baize.
They had other lives away from the table
Some of them were probably anything but stable?
The heyday of Billiards saw two world wars I recall
The effects on everyone’s lives were far from small
Joe Davis toured giving troops a lift
Tricks and humour were his gift
Some film survives of the greats in play.
They seemed fast and sure, no feet of clay
I collect their cues, books and memorabilia with respect
With my writing I hope their memory will not fall into neglect.
The modern player has unrivalled skill no doubt
But for me the stars of the thirties had more clout.
If you get the chance to see them demonstrate there art
On video or film you will be transfixed from the start
I hope that you might look back with interest
At the men who for generations so impressed


A Pool Players Luck

I am drawn against a new opponent today
A stranger to me I’ve never seen him play
He plays all his shots with lots of pluck,
Such a pity he relies so much on luck.
His friends cheer all that goes his way,
1 only feel dismay.
His cue swings wildly to and fro,
Not even he knows where the balls will go?
His form comes and goes in uncertain patches,
He often loses winnable matches.
He amazes all, who share the Pavilion,
With some shots that are one in a million.
1 remind myself not to get uptight,
1 know that next time will be my night.
Maybe 1 should check out my attitude first,
Before 1 believe of him the worst.
He comes across and offers his hand,
And says today my luck was grand.
1 realise he's much like me,
And doesn't take such things with glee.
In the next round 1 hear a call,
His opponent fluked the deciding black ball.
I see him stand back as he shakes his head
Wishing that he’d potted his own last red.
Luck can’t be relied on as your fate it decides
And then without remorse changes sides.
Next month we may well meet again across the green baize
I won’t worry so much about luck this time with her very fickle ways

Автор Дэвид Смит - профессиональный игрок По материалам pool.org.ua