Lately I have had baseball on the mind. Admittedly, I know nothing about the sport but have been drawn to the romance of pitching, hitting, sliding into home and in general anything related to the good 'ole ball game. Reading R.A. Dickey's autobiography, Wherever I Wind Up: My Quest for Truth, Authenticity and the PerfectKnuckleball confirms that baseball doesn't actually have anything to do with baseball- if you know what I mean...
Anyway, here is a poem to consider by the late, great Kenneth Patchen.
The Origin of Baseball
Someone had been walking in and out
Guest contributor, Lisa DiQuinzio
Someone had been walking in and out
Of the world without coming
To much decision about anything.
The sun seemed too hot most of the time.
There weren’t enough birds around
And the hills had a silly look
When he got on top of one.
The girls in heaven, however, thought
Nothing of asking to see his watch
Like you would want someone to tell
A joke – “Time,” they’d say, “what’s
That mean – Time?”, laughing with the edges
Of their white mouths, like a flutter of paper
In a mad house. And he’d stumble over
General Sherman or Elizabeth B.
Browning, muttering, “Can’t you keep
Your big wings out of the aisle?” But down
Again, there’d be millions of people without
Enough to eat and men with guns just
Standing there shooting each other.
To much decision about anything.
The sun seemed too hot most of the time.
There weren’t enough birds around
And the hills had a silly look
When he got on top of one.
The girls in heaven, however, thought
Nothing of asking to see his watch
Like you would want someone to tell
A joke – “Time,” they’d say, “what’s
That mean – Time?”, laughing with the edges
Of their white mouths, like a flutter of paper
In a mad house. And he’d stumble over
General Sherman or Elizabeth B.
Browning, muttering, “Can’t you keep
Your big wings out of the aisle?” But down
Again, there’d be millions of people without
Enough to eat and men with guns just
Standing there shooting each other.
So he wanted to throw something
And he picked up a baseball.
And he picked up a baseball.
Nice piece, Lisa. I've never read that poem before, but it's lovely. Dickey is such an interesting man. As a devoted Blue Jays fan I was over the moon when the club traded for him in December as he's been one of my favourite athletes for several years. He's both the only true knuckleballer in the game and the only pitcher whom I have ever heard conclude a post-game interview with a Faulkner quote.
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