Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
Shakespeare shaped the language.
Some say he invented it.
Wilde and Shaw spun expressions of unrelenting wit.
Whitman taught the mother tongue
How to sing for us;
Yeats scaled the beauty of her lonely peaks.
Joyce uncovered something new,
And so did Eliot.
But unlike Yogi, none of them could hit.
Taken from Ralph’s book, The Yogi Poems, available here.Â
the ledger of the sport that night
quiet and relentless
innings in other parks decided
three outs somehow made
if action here was lagging,
it was hopping somewhere else
and this wide network was tallied
with metal placards
slotted by men in shirtsleeves, sweating, smoking
Chesterfields and Old Golds
as advertised
and checking their watches
B-U-L-O-V-A
when the out-of-town games ended
east coast, then west coast,
the placards were put away
retiring like the faces of fans heading home
just as we would soon do
under the silent watchful eye of
Mr. Scoreboard
Sportsmen’s Park, St. Louis, July 20, 1951.
Because I signed the work “Phin”,
as I did all my newspaper verse,
over the years it allowed others
to claim credit for the poem,
though I believe I finally succeeded
in establishing my authorship
Later generations
might describe me as a one-hit wonder
as a way to denigrate the work,
but the excellence of the poem
can withstand any criticism
5 a.m. chiaroscuro of clouds
dark & light
like day & night
like right and wrong
I climb over the
seat into the back
of the car when
we reach Buddy’s.
“Who is that, Al?” Buddy asks
as he sits, pumpkin-sized head
in silhouette.
I am shadow
on vinyl:
the hum of the engine soothes
like a lullaby.
In Pittsfield a bottle is found
under a seat.
Rain beats on the roof
like knuckles;
the great city, people, buildings, Yankee Stadium
drenched, the crown immense.
Maris hits one out
to right;
a big man in the grandstand catches
a foul ball in his bare hand and
stands like the Statue of Liberty.
After the game is called
we leave:
On the ride home Buddy and
Uncle Al joke, laugh
smoke cigarettes
as I
in the back
become more
invisible
each mile.