Poem looking for a ballet

This is one of Haglund's favorite poems.

Poetry Is . . .  is from Richard Snyder's first book of poems "A Keeping in Touch" published in 1971 by The Ashland Poetry Press.  Mr. Snyder [1925-1986] was one of the founders of the Ashland Poetry Festival and the Ashland Poetry Press in Ohio.  He practiced and preached meter and rhyme, and tended to speak in iambic pentameter when lecturing to students at Ashland College.  Unfortunately, his few books are out of print and difficult to locate.   But if you ever stumble upon one of his poems, like now, you will see just how lovely and well-crafted they are.  This particular one begs to be made into a ballet.

POETRY IS . . .

many things, of course,
but since you ask
I'd say it was Orlow Steigerwalt
many dead autumns ago in my home town.
Old Orlow at The Blanchard County Fair
putting on his annual exhibition of horse-shoe pitching,
a sport that has survived dead seasons, I suppose,
but changed, not as it was then, with him,
when a blanket was stretched to mask the pit
and Old Orlow arched the shoes over it.
We had to wait for the clank to tell us how he'd done,
but sometimes he'd nod to himself before the sound had come.
Don't ask me, though, what makes a man a poet;
maybe something trivial as his name
drove Orlow Steigerwalt to blind ringers.
And that I guess is what I mean:
somewhere back there's a metal stake
we keep pitching for,
and forsake other men's concerns
to practice our delivery —
to pause, poised to pitch, let fly by God,
and then to wait a space and nod;
and when iron on iron strike as chime
to nod again a second time.