Kobe Bryant, Poet

Earlier this week, Kobe Bryant announced his retirement in the form of a poem posted to The Player’s Tribune. While Kobe’s greatness as a player is unquestioned, where does he stand as a poet? Esteemed poetry scholar Jay Floyd volunteered to analyze the poem for us here at Popwell. Floyd is one of the west coast’s most accomplished poetry teachers, and he has provided the comments he would have given Kobe, had Kobe turned the poem in as a class assignment. Floyd’s comments are in purple.

Dear Basketball,
From the moment
I started rolling my dad’s tube socks – Up or down? Poetry is specific. Guide your reader on a sensual journey with you.
And shooting imaginary
Game-winning shots
In the Great Western Forum
This would be a good place to add some imagery about what the GW Forum looks like. You cannot assume that your reader has been there. Perhaps your reader is from Kissimmee, Florida.
I knew one thing was real:
I fell had fallen in love with you.
A love so deep I gave you my all —
From my mind & body
To my spirit & soul. Theses are cliches. They weaken your message. Consider using more imagery. What did you give? Torn ligaments? Dislocated shoulders? Let your reader feel what you gave.
Is a six-year-old boy
Deeply in love with you
I never saw the end of the tunnel. Another cliche.
I only saw myself
Running out of one. This is interesting. Is the tunnel symbolic of birth? Or is it one of those “back door” tunnels you once claimed to be so fond of? Perhaps explain the scene of what the tunnel looks like and what’s waiting on the other side. Is it the variety of chain restaurants that make Kissimmee, Florida such a great place to stay even if you’re not going to Orlando? See how your reader’s mind can wander when you’re not clear?
And so I ran.
I ran up and down every court
After every loose ball for you.
You asked for my hustle
I gave you my heart
Because it came with so much more. You’re being vague here. So much more what? Your reader can’t be left to assume or her mind might go anywhere, even dark places like rape allegations, or throwing teammates under the bus during depositions to the cops. You don’t want them going there, so be specific. Poetry has to be specific so people don’t ever think of rape.
I played through the sweat and hurt
Not because challenge called me
But because YOU called me. The personification of basketball calling you is nice, but once again, you’re lacking details. What did it sound like when basketball called? Was its voice like James Earl Jones’? I’ve always sort of thought it would be a deep voice like that. The point is you have to tell us or some other reader might think it sounds all wussy like Mike Tyson.
I did everything for YOU – everything is a vague word. It’s not poetic. Can you picture everything? I cannot. I bet it looks a bit like $50 million over two yearrs.
Because that’s what you do
When someone makes you feel as
Alive as you’ve made me feel.  Another cliche. Really, don’t we all feel alive? Does getting punched by Chris Childs, or calling your teammates toilet-paper soft after practice make you more alive than the rest of us? If it does, then put it in the poem.
You gave a six-year-old boy his Laker dream –  What is this? One fan I know spent half a month’s pay to go to a game on Christmas – Christmas, the day of dreams! – to watch the Lakers beat the Cavaliers, but the Lakers lost. That fan didn’t have enough money to pay his rent come January and he’s since been homeless for four years. Now he dreams of soft toilet paper so he might wipe with something besides yesterday’s sports section. That kind of Lakers dream can’t be what you mean, but again, you’re not specific. You’re not painting the picture for your reader.
And I’ll always love you for it. It is an ambiguous pronoun here because the dream that it refers to is itself ambiguous.
But I can’t love you obsessively for much longer.
This season is all I have left to give. Are you sure it wasn’t three seasons ago?
My heart can take the pounding
My mind can handle the grind Nice internal rhyme!
But my body knows it’s time to say goodbye. Be specific! How? Why? Because you shot 1-14 the other day?
And that’s OK.
I’m ready to let you go. Go where? Oakland? Because that’s where it seems to be these days.
I want you to know now
So we both can savor every moment we have left together.
The good and the bad.
We have given each other
All that we have. Once again, you’re leaving your reader to make the images in his head. How will you savor the moment? Will you keep shooting three after three after three while Jordan Clarkson, D’Angelo Russell, Julius Randle, and the rest of the admittedly young and probably mediocre team around you are reduced to being spectators wearing uniforms? Or will you take basketball out for a nice steak and lobster dinner at the Outback in Kissimmee, Florida next time you’re in Orlando?
And we both know, no matter what I do next
I’ll always be that kid
With the rolled up socks
Garbage can in the corner
:05 seconds on the clock
Ball in my hands.
5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 – Finally, some decent imagery. However, the scene itself is too cliched to really let the sentiment strike your reader the way I believe you might want it to.

Love you always,
Kobe

You need to go back and read the chapters on imagery. Perhaps there’s a Ted Talk about it you could find. Your poem has almost no poetic devices. No metaphors, no similes, and minimal personification. Your poem has almost no rhetorical devices. Whatever pathos you begin to establish is ruined by your reliance on cliche. You’re going to need to rewrite this in order to get a passing grade.

Frankly, this poem is awful. It should have stayed in your journal. The sports page that my friend has to wipe with says you fancy yourself a storyteller these days. Well, there’s no story here unless your reader creates it himself. If you, as you claim, have given basketball all you can give, then take a few months off from basketball to take some creative writing classes. Take until mid-April. Please.