Zach and Michael, good points. Michael, I don’t know that record, but it sounds like great fun. Thanks for the tip.

Aaron, Annie’s right, that is cool. I’m glad you shared it.

Annie, I think you’re right about another thing, too: ‘painting in motion’ might be a bit clumsy.

And hey, here’s another old adage, w/ its baseball equivalent: Art for art’s sake = Manny being Manny?!?

I don’t even care about baseball, but it’s a great record.

Jason, your implication that the term involves discipline, grace within rules, thus the formality of poetry as opposed to other kinds of language is suggestive. This idea might help explain why the art of poetry is chosen from all other arts for this honor—why nobody says “painting in motion”: because poetry, unlike painting or musical composition, has as its base material something we all use every day, words, and so the WAY in which those words are used is the only way the poetry is created.

I used to love watching Manny, and much as I hate him now, now he’s no longer in the Red Sox, I’m not sure how much I’m looking forward to the next few months…

In March 2003, a researcher from Dallas contacted the National Archives for information about the SS Harriet Monroe.

The merchant marine is a fleet that carries imports and exports during peacetime – and that delivers troops and supplies in times of war. During World War II, many merchant mariners saw military action.

Merchant mariners now have veterans’ status, entitling them to veterans’ benefits for injuries sustained in action.

The researcher’s father-in-law claimed he had served on the crew of the SS Harriet Monroe and had come under enemy fire in the Philippines on January 12, 1945. But he needed proof to obtain veterans’ benefits for injuries resulting from that action.

Official logbooks were issued to merchant vessels at the beginning of each voyage and were turned in at the end. The National Archives facility in San Bruno, CA, holds about 11,000 official merchant vessel logbooks for voyages that terminated at the port of San Francisco.

Archives technician Joseph Sanchez found the official logbook of the SS Harriet Monroe for a voyage that commenced at San Francisco in September 1944 and terminated there in April 1945.

The logbook included a crew list that confirmed the father-in-law’s presence on the ship; however, the book did not contain a single entry mentioning enemy action on or around January 12.

But Sanchez knew of another collection of World War II – era logbooks, known as the “secret logbooks” because they once were classified. In the formerly secret logbook of the SS Harriet Monroe for that same voyage, he found several entries describing enemy action on January 12, 1945.

The researcher’s father-in-law now has the proof he needs and is able to claim full veterans’ medical benefits for his injuries.

SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK

Scouting Report
Hamlet’s playing first. It couldn’t be worse.
He’s still haunted by the ghost of his play at home last season.
Richard’s on second. Where else? He seems to have gotten over the hump.
Romeo’s young but he made it to third base.
Puck Goodfellow’s playing short. He’s been goofing off.
Othello, the Big Fella’s out in left field. He’s been choking a lot this season.
Macbeth’s in center field. He’s mad as hell about that.
Shylock’s covering right but cheating up the line.
Iago’s behind the plate calling the shots.
And Lear is on the mound. His eyesight’s gone but he’s still got some stuff.
Play by Play
Hamlet strikes out. Who wouldn’t in his condition?
Richard hits a short grounder and gallops to first.
Romeo gets called on strikes and the crowd begins to boo him. “Hey Romeo! Where for art thou in this game?”
Puck toys with the pitcher. “Yeah big fairy,” he taunts him and belts one down the right field line.
Richard heads for second. Puck is safe at first.
Macbeth takes a walk.
Bases loaded and the Big Fella is up.
A swing and a miss.
Othello steps away from the plate.
Iago calls from the dugout, “Watch out for the curve ball.”
Another swing and a miss. Othello wants to kill that ball.
It looks like curtains for the home team.
Look out, Richard’s stealing home.
He hits the dirt and slides beneath the tag.
The crowd goes wild.
He dusts himself off and doesn’t have a scratch.
“The prick doesn’t bleed,” Shylock screams lifting him onto his shoulders.
The play’s the thing.
Oh, somewhere crowds are clapping.
Somewhere critics rave.
There is great joy around the Globe
Mighty Shakespeare wrote a play.

Published in roger, The Roger Williams University Literary Magazine, Spring 2008

# # #

SERMON ON THE MOUND

Blessed be the first baseman,
who stretches for an errant throw
with the utmost grace and style.

Blessed be the runner,
who takes off to steal second,
for he will be out by a mile.

Blessed be the pop-up fly out to center field,
for he has an arm like a rocket,
and will fire it home to where the catcher waits.

Blessed be the runner, sliding into home,
for he will inherit the earth
but never reach the plate.

Blessed be the grounder, dribbling down to third,
for the shortstop will bare-hand it
and then fire it away.

Blessed be the batter,
for he will be shown no mercy,
for hitting into a double play.

Blessed be the fastball,
for it goes ninety miles an hour
and is seldom hit.

Blessed be the batter,
who swings with all his power
but knows that he still missed.

Rejoice and be glad, for although your reward
may not be in the kingdom of heaven, after all,
it will be in winning the pennant
sometime this late fall.

# # #

Aethlon, East Tennessee State University, a print journal designed to celebrate the intersection of literature with the world of play, games, and sport (2009)

Thanks for these baseball poems.

My best moments as a baseball fan were when I was in grad school with the time to follow day games and night games in both San Francisco and Oakland. I can’t say that makes me a perfect fan — I loved both the Giants and the A’s, so I can’t have loved either of them properly (which would have meant exclusively). But there was the week when I woke up and realized I could tell you not only my team’s statistics, but who was leading the league (either league) in triples, etc. No mistaking it, I was hooked. I carried my poems around in a folder with Will Clark’s game face on the front. But then I left the Bay Area for the Midwest, where you can’t even get the west coast night game scores in the day papers, and I didn’t have time to keep track, and my players were getting traded to other teams. But it does mean that my most intense time as a baseball fan coincided with some of my most intense reading of poetry.

For me, *the* baseball poem about poetry in motion is William Carlos Williams’ “The crowd at the ball game,” from Spring and All. The crowd is caught up in, delighted by “all the exciting detail / of the chase// and the escape, the error/ the flash of genius.” That is, they get from it something like what Williams wants us to get from a poem — the specific, surprising ride it takes us on. Furthermore, this might go some way to redeem the crowd — “So in detail, they, the crowd, are beautiful.” I think this suggests (among other things) that to the extent that being in a crowd at a ballgame wakes each of us up, and amplifies that waking, it’s to be celebrated. But Williams also lets the poem pivot here — and warns against the unthinking (no longer in detail) danger of the crowd…

The crowd at the ball game
is moved uniformly

by a spirit of uselessness
which delights them–

all the exciting detail
of the chase

and the escape, the error
the flash of genius–

all to no end save beauty
the eternal–

So in detail, they, the crowd,
are beautiful

for this
to be warned against

saluted and defied–
It is alive, venomous

it smiles grimly
its words cut–

The flashy female with her
mother, gets it–

The Jew gets it straight–it
is deadly, terrifying–

It is the Inquisition, the
Revolution

It is beauty itself
that lives

day by day in them
idly–

This is
the power of their faces

It is summer, it is the solstice
the crowd is

cheering, the crowd is laughing
in detail,

permanently, seriously
without thought

*

Yours in the common pursuit,

Jennifer Clarvoe