Lawrence Ferlinghetti will turn 102 on March 24 of this year. He is one of my favorite poets. I have more Ferlinghetti poems in my “Favorite Poem” file than poems of any other poet. His collection, A Coney Island of the Mind, has been translated into 9 languages and has sold more copies than any other collection by an American poet. I keep a copy of it and of his gem of a small book, Poetry as Insurgent Art, on my nightstand.
Ferlinghetti is the founder of City Lights Books in San Francisco which is a mecca for writers of any genre. Do not visit the Bay Area without stopping there. In 1956, he published Alan Ginsburg’s poem Howl, for which he was arrested and tried on obscenity charges. He was successfully defended and the right of free speech was upheld (at least in that instance).
As I said, I have dozens of favorite Ferlinghetti poems. I have chosen to highlight this one for a couple of reasons. First, I am a big baseball fan, and after the disaster of the COVID-ridden 2020 season, I am anxiously awaiting the February date when pitchers and catchers report for spring training. Secondly, you will notice how, on the surface, Baseball Canto is a celebration of the great American pastime, but along the way the poet manages to include a critique of America’s problems. White supremacy is addressed as well as the fact that minorities for decades were excluded from the Major Leagues. But after the playing of the National Anthem during which the umpires like Irish cops look for the coming of the Great White Hope, the poem then turns as Willie Mays steps to the plate and from there on, the poem is a song (canto) of praise for the diversity of culture and language that is America.
One bit of baseball trivia for those who don’t know. There is a reference in the second stanza to facing east during the national anthem. In most stadiums the flag is located in center field, and baseball parks are constructed with home plate facing east. This is so that by the afternoon the sun is not directly in the batter’s eyes. This is why left-handed pitchers are referred to as southpaws, because their pitches come at the batter from the south side of the stadium. OK, more than you probably wanted to know.
Happy New Year.
Baseball Canto by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Watching baseball
sitting in the sun
eating popcorn
Rereading Ezra Pound
and wishing Juan Marichal
would hit a hole right through
the Anglo-Saxon tradition
in the First Canto
and demolish the barbarian invaders
When the San Francisco Giants take the field
and everybody stands up to the National Anthem
with some Irish tenor's voice
piped over the loudspeakers
with all the players stuck dead in their places
and the white umpires like Irish cops
in their black suits and little black caps
pressed over their hearts
standing straight and still
like some funeral of a blarney bartender
and all facing East
as if expecting some Great White Hope
or the Founding Fathers
to appear on the horizon
like 1066 or 1776 or all that
But Willie Mays appears instead
in the bottom of the first
and a roar goes up
as he clouts the first one into the sun
and takes off
like a footrunner from Thebes
The ball is lost in the sun
and maidens wail after him
but he keeps running
through the Anglo-Saxon epic
And Tito Fuentes comes up
Looking like a bullfighter
in his tight pants and small pointed shoes
And the rightfield bleachers go mad
With chicanos & blacks & Brooklyn beer drinkers
"Sweet Tito! Sock it to heem, Sweet Tito!"
And Sweet Tito puts his foot in the bucket
and smacks one that doesn't come back at all
and flees around the bases
like he's escaping from the United Fruit Company
as the Gringo dollar beats out the Pound
and Sweet Tito beats it out
like he's beating out usury
not to mention fascism and anti-semitism
And Juan Marichal comes up
and the chicano bleachers go loco again
as Juan belts the first fast ball
out of sight
and rounds first and keeps going
and rounds second and rounds third
and keeps going
and hits pay-dirt
to the roars of the grungy populace
As some nut presses the backstage panic button
for the tape-recorded National anthem again
to save the situation
but he don't stop nobody this time
in their revolution round the loaded white bases
in this last of the great Anglo-Saxon epics
in the Territorio Libre of baseball.