Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Poetry Posts and me - 2nd week

I live in a very literate neighborhood.  At least it appears so since within every block there is a poetry post
standing in the parking strip of at least one, often two houses.  Decorative and resembling a post where a bird feeder or house would sit, they have a frame with a protective glass and awning.  Each week, there is a new poem appearing in each of these posts.   I love the poems, but I especially love the fact that they exist.  It is lovely to know that my neighbors want to share and invite me into their yard to pause and read what they have offered.  Its a generous gift.

 This morning was an offering displayed from Langston Hughes and another by John Updike.  I liked the John Updike poem on Baseball.
BASEBALL
It looks easy from a distance,
easy and lazy, even,
until you stand up to the plate
and see the fastball sailing inside,
an inch from your chin,
or circle in the outfield
straining to get a bead
on a small black dot
a city block or more high,
a dark star that could fall
on your head like a leaden meteor.

The grass, the dirt, the deadly hops
between your feet and overeager glove:
football can be learned,
and basketball finessed, but
there is no hiding from baseball
the fact that some are chosen
and some are not—those whose mitts
feel too left-handed,
who are scared at third base
of the pulled line drive,
and at first base are scared
of the shortstop's wild throw
that stretches you out like a gutted deer.

There is nowhere to hide when the ball's
spotlight swivels your way,
and the chatter around you falls still,
and the mothers on the sidelines,
your own among them, hold their breaths,
and you whiff on a terrible pitch
or in the infield achieve
something with the ball so
ridiculous you blush for years.
It's easy to do. Baseball was
invented in America, where beneath
the good cheer and sly jazz the chance
of failure is everybody's right,
beginning with baseball. 
"Baseball" by John Updike, from Endpoint and Other Poems. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2009.
I like the fact that I live in a neighborhood with poetry posts, especially one that also reveals a dependable weekly habit of changing them so that regular walkers can stop for a breath with a meaningful pause. and each week read a new offering.  Its also especially definitive of this place that attached to a few of them is a dispenser with small disposable biodegradable baggies.  We are also a dog loving place.


NOTE: If you are interested in a poetry post, here is the link that will tell you ALL about it http://poetrypostspdx.com/

A comment on my habit forming dilemma of the week:  Chores first or walk, write, and craft first?  

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