#29: Where You At?
“The stream of crimson brake-lights that floated like an illuminated trail of blood from Boston inches north. Cool air from the vent paws my face. I rotate between scratch-throat talk shows and futile traffic reports. I want to relish this muddle of noise before the night's combat against the unseen enemies of my son.” (“The Red Bird” by Michael McSweeney, Hobart.)
ABOUT THE WAR, NO, THE OTHER WAR, NO, THE OTHER OTHER WAR, NO, THE —
A few years ago, my local representative was on TV so much while doing so little for his district that it tangibly drove home how much the experience of elected office is toy soldier play-acting for some. The adult equivalent of whooshing an action figure through the air.
And it’s not difficult to think of this again when we see patently unserious men and women talk a level of marinated-in-clown-bone-broth nonsense about what’s been unfolding in Ukraine.
If you’d like to see a recent thread offering a tactical update on the war from Someone On Twitter, then click here.
“when we went away you had a cat in a crate on your lap, another in a cat pouch above that, the other two in the backseat, and we had to fit all we could in a 2013 Volkswagen Passat ...” (“When We Went Away” by Nick Olson, HAD.)
Baseball has value. The value of baseball isn’t found in instituting a pitch clock or making the bases larger or anything like that — it’s in the fact that the sport places you at the simulated edge of the American Wild. That’s it. That’s all it is. And it’s more than enough.
And, sure, this is an 11 on the 1-to-10 scale of hippie-dippie things to say, but it’s also true. When people talk about the ‘magic’ of the sport, there’s a non-zero chance that this is the thing they’re talking about. Baseball places you at the edge of ‘The Wild’ and turns that potentially precarious feeling into a feeling of zen (or — zen with a thrill, thrill with a zen — you know what I mean), i.e., You are up against the unknown, and — mixed in amongst all that — is the fact that it’s a lovely day for a game of baseball.
To ‘save’ baseball, then, as has become the conversational wont of those ‘concerned’ about the game, means finding situations for the game that bring it closer to that notion of wildness.
For instance: is there a field we can set up that has a tree somewhere in-between left and center? Is it possible for a dog to run out onto the grass and chase after a ball that’s racing through the infield? Is there an eldritch horror that can calmly walk the liminal space between reality and surreality as the left-fielder waits for something, anything to happen? Can someone’s Mom lean out the window of a building looking down on the stadium and randomly shout out the name of any player, saying that it’s now their turn to come inside for dinner? And it’s something the whole ballpark can hear?
A SENTENCE FROM MARY OLIVER’S APPEARANCE ON BROCKPORT WRITERS FORUM —
“I have few — if any — poems that take place indoors.”
PAYWALL PREVIEW #1, COURTESY OF LEIGH CHADWICK (COME JUST US BEHIND THE PAYWALL) —
“It’s the Valium dripping down my throat that blurs the weather. What doesn’t crash soon will. It’s the reverb of Omaha that gives the Midwest a migraine. I hear he owns a bar now. I hear he called my old roommate, and that it took him three syllables to say Leigh.”
TWENTY QUESTIONS FROM WHERE YOU AT? (PLUS SOME LINKS)
1. Trace the water you drink from precipitation to tap.
2. How many days til the moon is full? (Slack of 2 days allowed.)
3. What soil series are you standing on?
4. What was the total rainfall in your area last year (July-June)? (Slack: 1 inch for every 20 inches.)
5. When was the last time a fire burned in your area?
6. What were the primary subsistence techniques of the culture that lived in your area before you?
7. Name 5 edible plants in your region and their season(s) of availability.
8. From what direction do winter storms generally come in your region?
9. Where does your garbage go?
10. How long is the growing season where you live?
11. On what day of the year are the shadows the shortest where you live?
12. When do the deer rut in your region, and when are the young born?
13. Name five grasses in your area. Are any of them native?
14. Name five resident and five migratory birds in your area.
15. What is the land use history of where you live?
16. What primary ecological event/process influenced the land form where you live? (Bonus special: what's the evidence?)
17. What species have become extinct in your area?
18. What are the major plant associations in your region?
19. From where you're reading this, point north.
20. What spring wildflower is consistently among the first to bloom where you live?
“How are our glaciers doing?” / The Night Breaks On Fires Are Worsening / An Interactive Map of Every Tree in Richmond, Virginia / What about the role of geothermal? / Four graphs /
WORDS … AND SPORTS?
“Two teams meet in a head-on collision at the line of scrimmage. A chorus of grunts and growls grind against the crunch of crashing helmets and shoulder pads, like boots skidding to a halt in gravel. Our quarterback runs backwards, his eyes trained on Number 23 in the endzone. He throws the ball, his arm arching forward, his fingers fanning out like the feathers of a wing in flight.” “Offside, Otherside” by Sarah Salcedo, W&S.
PAYWALL PREVIEW #2 —
AWP IS COMING —
“A special LOGOS gathering at Victory Brewing featuring Roger Reeves and Ada Limón.” / Join us for a Riot in Your Throat & Friends Poetry Reading! / Alternating Current Offsite Reading / SandTheSW / Writing Disaster: Imagine, Reveal, Reckon, Repair: What role can writers play in an era of compounding environmental disasters? / AWP Offsite Event with Coffee House Press, Feminist Press, and The Rumpus /
Above: Mickalene Thomas, Monet's Salle a Manger Jaune, 2012 (via.)