Endymion: Labor Day at a Neighborhood Gym
One should not read John Keats on a treadmill…
“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever
Its loveliness increases; it will never”1
Persist without such meticulous toil
A thousand hours of tread, or else foil.
Adonis Satyrs, anonymous nymphs
With focused gaze, each inhales, bends, and lifts
Full of sweat dreams, and health, and vibrant breathing
Therefore, with every movement, are we wreathing
A polyester band that binds us to the gym
Sounds of despondence by earphones dimmed
Of carnal natures, or the glorious of days,
Of all the heart healthy and o’er-sweetened ways
Made for our strutting, yes, in spite of all,
Reshaped beauty, resistances enthralled
From our stormy spirits. Such suns and moons
Trees old and young, sprouting their shining boons
The flowers of Choson blossoming here,
Virgin of Guadalupe’s heirs, right there,
The Tru’ng Sisters, and Mu Guying’s daughters
José Rizal’s voice crossed ocean waters
Europa’s Atlantic heirs frolic too
And Africa’s lions and camels move
Past Lakshmi’s sons and daughters gymnastics
All stretch, all strive, such is their politics
That scarcely any will acknowledge this.
This: California’s vida loca bliss.
Outside, ancient ogres and miser trolls
Amassed their fortunes, carbons, tarnished golds
Mocked Apollo, deployed their demon fox
His wrath aroused, inflicted drought and pox.
Yet though they billions accumulate
Not one of them sips this nectar, none sates
Acquisitions, schemes, bombastic bumbles
The heat wave may whelm, the whiners grumble
Yet within Endymion’s abode dwells
Some hundred souls pursuing only health.
Will the moon do a dozen squats, or lunge?
Will Pectoralis major heave and plunge?
Indeed, for conditioned air lets us breathe
Push through the heat! Push forth, and weave
A life lived among many rainbow dreams
That glorious acceptance still redeems.
© 2022, Tom Tordillo
This parody is what happens when I go to a gym during a heat wave and keep reading John Keats’ poetry while working out. When one can cool off from the outside scorch by entering a steam room, one’s capacity to craft homage degenerates.
John Keats might have been bemused by my nondescript, friendly neighborhood gym. So diverse the assembly of peoples — so many corners of the world represented! And all of them, mixing without comment, so many genders, shapes, ages, heritages! And yet, headphones and armor thickly in place, they seem determined not to acknowledge the incredible wonder of it all!
I compare a ‘simple’ modern gym to an idyllic fantasy wonderland Keats concocted. The athletes at my gym probably took a shower: they smell better than your fauns and satyrs (river nymphs are a different story). The Titan Moon fell for a demigod? Meh, that was last weeks story on the cinema screen. In a corner of California, magical worlds exist with little comment, that should have astonished the most vibrant imaginations.
Sure, this real world space is beset with challenges from trolls and ogres, and ordeals like this heat wave seem to come from the will of angry deities. But this world persists in its beauty, because people WORK to make it persist. Not the fleeting sense of muscular youth, but endless effort on treadmills and keen eyes guarding one’s fellows. This beautiful space teems with life. We defend it. We clean up after ourselves.
Endymion reeks of Keats’ desperate mortality, mingled with a grandiose hope. A self-described “apprentice work,” it marked the emergence of a young master offering a piece that endures — a “thing of beauty” is indeed a joy for ever.
My hope is less profound: may the hidden splendors of such scenes survive.
