“Homage to Willie Mays”
PoemsI used to go to games in Candlestick ParkJust for a little rest, a little solitudeAway from her voice so I could writeA poem for her. The poem I never finished.I didn’t like or dislike baseball, I simplyDidn’t understand it. It was a good placeTo work until it got too exciting. I mean,Sometimes the game got too exciting: you’dSee Mays trotting in from the outfield,This relaxed look on his face, & suddenlyYou knew the exceptional was about to happen.Even after we broke up, agreeing we were justToo different (she liked money; I preferred,In those days, drugs), I still went out there,Such was the nature of my devotion toThis task, all readiness with my fountain pen—Modest in size but everlastingly erect—A Parker 51 with a gold nib whereMy angel resided, & a yellow legal padWith no left margin, the pages faded a littleBy the sunlight, just the way I liked them,And I was in the middle of saying somethingImportant about the way her bare shouldersLooked in sunlight as she strolled up TelegraphIn the bottom of the seventh when Mays stepped upAnd connected, & mailed one to Oakland,And then another, later, to the mudflatsOn the river beyond Martinez, & thenEveryone was standing up, cheering him,And suddenly I was aware that I, too,Was standing up, whistling & applaudingA man whose swing was sweet dignity,And one who’d liberated me foreverFrom writing a lament so unforgettableSoft light fell through that perfect airAnd the English language had no words for it.—Larry Levis (1946-96)This is drawn from “Swirl & Vortex: Collected Poems of Larry Levis.”
I used to go to games in Candlestick Park —Larry Levis (1946-96)
Just for a little rest, a little solitude
Away from her voice so I could write
A poem for her. The poem I never finished.
I didn’t like or dislike baseball, I simply
Didn’t understand it. It was a good place
To work until it got too exciting. I mean,
Sometimes the game got too exciting: you’d
See Mays trotting in from the outfield,
This relaxed look on his face, & suddenly
You knew the exceptional was about to happen.
Even after we broke up, agreeing we were just
Too different (she liked money; I preferred,
In those days, drugs), I still went out there,
Such was the nature of my devotion to
This task, all readiness with my fountain pen—
Modest in size but everlastingly erect—
A Parker 51 with a gold nib where
My angel resided, & a yellow legal pad
With no left margin, the pages faded a little
By the sunlight, just the way I liked them,
And I was in the middle of saying something
Important about the way her bare shoulders
Looked in sunlight as she strolled up Telegraph
In the bottom of the seventh when Mays stepped up
And connected, & mailed one to Oakland,
And then another, later, to the mudflats
On the river beyond Martinez, & then
Everyone was standing up, cheering him,
And suddenly I was aware that I, too,
Was standing up, whistling & applauding
A man whose swing was sweet dignity,
And one who’d liberated me forever
From writing a lament so unforgettable
Soft light fell through that perfect air
And the English language had no words for it.
This is drawn from “Swirl & Vortex: Collected Poems of Larry Levis.”
