“I think I know what the matter is.” I gave a knowing smile. He huffed, then looked down at his notebook again. I couldn’t tell what was written but it filled half the page. “You’re missing your lassy, aren’t you?”
When he looked at me again I could see something had shifted in his eyes. They were softer now, almost delicate. They were watery at the edges. His face was round and cherubic, even with the stubble that was showing through. He didn’t say anything.
I sighed, “it’s okay, you don’t have to answer me. I can tell I’m right.”
His expression twisted up, his features now terse and irritated. “What makes you think that?”
“What else is there to moan about? You’re rich, successful, and on holiday. The only problems you’ve got are which pairs of leather patent loafers to buy and the girl who won’t take you seriously.”
“And what makes you think she won’t take me seriously?” His tone was shifting, sounding more irritated with every syllable that came off his tongue. His lilt had turned into a battering swarm of angry bees.
“She would be here if she did.”
His brow mashed together, angling upwards with discomfort. His lips morphed into a grimace. Without another word he stood from his chair and went to the front door. It opened and slammed shut before I could protest.
Maureen stood in the hall, frozen. She looked concerned. When the house stopped shaking from the impact of the door, she spoke. “What the hell did you say?” She was flagrant with me too.
I shrugged. “All I said was everything he already knew.”
20 years and this dude has always show up. In every game, in every stats, in every clutch, in every playoff, in every championship. People are used to him dropping 27,7,7 his whole career that if he puts up less than that, he is criticized for it. Even if what he put out in an off day is still better than some of the great and good ones, it doesn’t matter. Because the truth is, he isn’t just being compared to the greatest players, he is being compared to the player he is in “his prime”. He has always started his journey strong and people don’t care to recognize how different and hard that is to pull through. To be this good after 20 years, breaking records and being compared into breakout stars until now were just incredible.
So when the numbers speak up, his records of greatness were shown, and the criciticisms don’t add up to the equation, people stop believing that it might be possible that someone can walk and play this game this long and great. Basketball has always been a game of hustle, power and dominance. And yes, bron has all that, but for me, what he had that put him in a mile away from the rest is his iq and intelligence inside the court that is too beautiful to not be applauded for. He is a born leader, a facilitator. He makes good shots and good blocks being a power forward all throughout his career, but he had given so much good assists to his team as well. He made them look good, be good, do good. His first goal inside every game is to not just shoot every ball, to dominate by shooting, but to pass and find the open man and made it easier for that player to put a shot. The number one scorer of all time is also the fourth assist leader of all time.
I am a kobe kid growing up, never heard of lebron until his first championship in Miami. His game was very very different from the mamba, it lacked the heart for me, it lacked passion and grit. Kobe’s every move had always been full of life and love for the game, watching him play makes you understand why they do what they do, and made you love the game also in the process. He will always be a legend for me because he made me see the poetry inside the game.
But when LBJ returned home to Cavaliers, I never rooted for anyone else as much as how I rooted for Kobe until him. The run, the promise wanting to be fulfilled, the stake of every season isn’t about just winning anymore, but about redemption and committment to a promise he made the first time he stepped on the court. And yes, he delivered it. He delivered it in the most fulfilling and historical way. He showed up when every one is counting him out. He showed up and honor that win to the people of The Land.
LBJ shown me how it is more than just the game. When people find you good for something, they applaud you for being good at it. But lebron being the number one scorer now made me applaud him for the preparation and flight it took him to truly earn that spot. Having the privilege to play the game you love and made a living out of it takes work. All good things are earned even if you were branded the chosen one. It was grasping the opportunity given to him 20 years ago and seizing it until his body and mind and heart can.
I fell in love with kobe’s game. Ever since I was a kid, it was his moves and shots I recreate. I will always love his greatness. But man, I respect LBJ’s greatness. His the greatest for me. People might not see it now because he is still in the grasp, playing and still proving, but five years from now, when he hangs his jersey for good, it will be known, it will show.
His greatness will echo loud and everyone will hear.
bron beeld: latitudes.nu
Schemering in de dessa
Schemering in de dessa’s / tussen kampongs / en zon worden door jonge vrouwen / op het hoofd gedragen: / Ronde potten / gebakken klei / gemaakt door oude werkman / ondergaande zon
Tussen waterbron / en keten van kampongs / komt zandweg afwezig / terug van fontein… / jonge vrouwen: / Maan in hun hoofd
uit: ik wil nog duizend jaar leven, Poetry…
I had the privilege of attending Bron Bateman's poetry collection launch, Blue Wren last night. I love this community. It was one of the most warm and genuine launches I've been to. A heartfelt introduction and speech by Georgia Richter Fremantle Press and Scott-Patrick Mitchell (author of Clean Terri-ann White Upswell) who were both effusive with their praise of this much anticipated collection.
Bron is an inspiration. Her work is direct, succinct and confronting. There is such a precise use of imagery and the rhythm rocks you in a comforting way even when the images are unexpectedly intimate and graphic.
Bron is an amazon of contemporary feminist poetry and erotica and her work must be read. Here is an excerpt from her exquisite collection:
Orange Madonna (extract) for Jo by Bron Bateman
I watch the way you cut orange and lemon segments,
the snick of the knife on the chopping board,
the flick and stress of your brown wrist.
Most of the time you are too uncomfortable in your body
*dead and buried* by bron rauk-mitchell [text + image versions]
You broke me,
- crushed and destroyed me -
but as I recover,
- as I rebuild myself from those shattered pieces -
it’s clear to me that the hold you once had on me
has finally broken,
and while the affects still linger,
the love that I once felt for you is now dead and buried -
and I will finally be free …
Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley (read by Eleanor Bron)
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
Bron (France) // Séance complémentaire avec le professeur de français // 25 janvier 2021 // Mise en commun et lecture
A partir des poèmes rédigés par chacun des élèves, un poème intitulé Ma Ville est né. Les élèves le lisent ensemble.
______________
Bron (France) // Complementary session with the French teacher // 25 January 2021 // Sharing and reading
From the poems written by each student, a poem entitled Ma Ville was born. The students read it together.
______________
Bron (Francia) // Sesión complementaria con el profesor de francés// 25 de enero de 2021// Puesta en común y lectura
A partir de los poemas escritos por cada uno de los alumnos, nace un poema titulado Ma Ville. Los alumnos lo leen juntos.