I've Been Reading Lately is what it sounds like. I spend most of my free time reading, and here's where I write about what I've read.
Great Article, Levi.I thought you might enjoy this.Dodger BlueWhen I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever . . . it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness. –F. Scott Fitzgerald The Great GatsbyIn the fall of 1988, Orel Hershiser’s curve ballSet like a white sun on the High Sierras: 59.The 0's burned the late summer scoreboard linesLike a moonrise over Chavez Ravine. He played shadow-ball.The box scores read like early Hemingway;Papa told me how he’d followed DiMaggio’sIn ‘41. The Mets went down in seven, cocksure,With noses still red from their 86'd lady.Then, Gibson shoe-strung a Roy HobbsOn Eckersley’s back door slider: “Wonder-Boy.”I cried myself golden to sleep, dreaming Dodger DogsAnd Vin Scully’s call: “the impossible...” was pure joy. The Los Angeles Times made the Bash-Brothers an analogueTo Goliath. Miracles were dime wishes off the Hoover dam, toys.That was when I was 10 and Brooklyn sounded like a riverI’d fish with my father. Later, we moved East,And I learned that Walter O’Malley was HitlerIn Flatbush, Gravesend and through Kings County’s streets.They said it was like a death in the familyWhen the Dodger’s went West. The “Sym-Phony”Did not play when they cremated Ebbet’s Field. JackieCleaned his locker out, sliding into the Sunuvabitch’s moneyWith his spikes up, to remind him of the color of blood.I was 23 and living in New York– the old Capitol– Before I ever saw Willie’s catch-in the-rye, glovedOver his shoulder, in deep center of the old PoloGrounds. I thought of the Giants ‘89 Series,The earthquake and the aftershocks through the games.Canseco and McGuire were like Greek godsThat year. Orel’s curve balls became a fever dream,And baseball turned into a game of shadows. Three years after McGuire and Sosa’s stadium RevivalTour led the masses back to the pastime, Barry Bonds passed Babe Ruth, tying Maris’ 61*.
Well done Octoberscare. I liked especially the qoute from Murial Spark. . .
Thanks for the poem, Anonymous! It brings back that strangely memorable summer of '88 strongly. I've been pleasantly surprised by how many people left poems in the comments to the piece at the Poetry Foundation's site.