Photo [detail] by Diane MacEachern
No Crying in Baseball
No crying when I struck out swinging.
No crying when a runt smashed a grand slam
off my pitch. Or when I wrecked my legs
black and blue sliding into third.
No crying when I was picked off
at third for the third time
or when my wondrous fly ball
whacked the rear fence
and bounced back like a prodigal to a centerfield glove.
Not even when my mind wandered to the beach
and I bobbled the ball and the manager screamed
get out of my life!
I’ll tell you what brought me tears.
I was in space, orbiting the generous blue earth
and pressing my face against
the plain window glass of my ship.
I witnessed ball fields in neighborhoods on every continent,
green diamonds shining through glorious clouds
and dogs the world over
chasing grounders in the afternoons.
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Karen Sagstetter is author of Commotion, a book of poetry, as well as poetry and fiction in numerous literary journals, two chapbooks of poetry, two nonfiction books, and The Thing with Willie, a collection of linked stories set largely in Galveston. She studied in Japan as a Fulbright journalist and worked as senior editor for many years at the Smithsonian’s museum of Asian art and at the National Gallery of Art. She grew up in Texas and now lives in Maryland.
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I love this poem! Thanks for featuring it.
Posted by: Mary Kay Zuravleff | August 02, 2020 at 01:37 PM
Nice to see this old friend (also this old friend's photo!).
Posted by: David W McAleavey | August 02, 2020 at 05:06 PM
Beautiful poem!
Posted by: Christopher J Mason | August 03, 2020 at 05:20 AM
I went to High School with this articulate lady and unfortunately have seen her rarely since our graduation. No matter how often we have seen each other, she always has left me with the thought of her brilliant mind and a wonderful personality to go with it. The above poem in my mind just shows a beautiful interpretation of the famous line by Tom Hanks, "There is no crying in baseball". For all of us that have played the sport, reading this poem brings back so many memories of those mixed emotions the love of this game has given us. Great poem by a truly special lady that I feel lucky to have known over the years. It was fun to read and nice to remember!
Posted by: David M Reynolds | August 03, 2020 at 07:33 AM
You're welcome. I knew you'd like it.
Posted by: Terence Winch | August 03, 2020 at 07:36 AM
Karen Sagstetter has hit a homerun!
Posted by: MIchael Rachlis | August 04, 2020 at 05:27 AM
I know more about baseball now than I did when I opened the link to this page. But I think I always knew it had some connection to eternity and the sublime.
Posted by: Bernard Welt | August 05, 2020 at 09:00 AM
I'm in the same boat as you, Bernard. But many poets are baseball-obsessives (Elinor Nauen, Charles North, David Lehman, P. Inman, Ethelbert Miller, and many more). There will be more baseball poems to come.
Posted by: Terence Winch | August 05, 2020 at 10:54 AM
And good to see you here, David, as well.
Posted by: Terence Winch | August 05, 2020 at 10:55 AM
Christopher---Agreed.
Posted by: Terence Winch | August 05, 2020 at 10:55 AM
David---I'm hoping she was a juvenile delinquent in high school.
Posted by: Terence Winch | August 05, 2020 at 10:57 AM
It has rattled around in my head for the past three or four days. It's percussive and driving at the same time. But the reason it remains is becasue of its take on death. Baseball and death. The season is now. Bravo.
Posted by: Lawrence Welsh | August 08, 2020 at 12:36 AM