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August 30, 2020


Scotch is the preferred drink of the cultivated, seasoned observer of literature and baseball. A good choice to go even further back than baseball, to the highlands, to discus and shot put and bag pipes. This poem memorializes names I for one did not know. Thank you for giving the Boys of Early Spring their names and metaphors. Thank you for the companionship of the game when watching it alone.

Another wonderful poem by a wonderful poet! Hooray!

This is just wonderful and made me smile, which not very many things can do these days.

Bob's poems have that admirable quality.

I've been trying to convert him to Irish, but without success.

I will add a hip-hip to your hooray.

A good reminder, an old habit scotch for a Ceylonese..but tastes and liberties can change, one poem and drink at a time. Henceforth, Irish whiskey to accompany the ball game.

Thank you for posting this wonderful poem which made me remember Cookie Lavagetto, (another great baseball name!) who who the first manager of the Minnesota Twins when I was a kid.

Thanks, Chris. I knew you'd like it.

Outstanding. Thank you for the "boys of early spring."

Much as I love both Irish and Scotch, I do nevertheless have to put in a good word for gin with a few drops of dry vermouth. And now that beer is verboten for me (celiac), I feel that a Tom Collins is a good choice for watching the millionaires play ball.

That sounds good, too.

I stopped watching baseball (except for some world series games) when the bums left brooklyn, thanks for bringing those days to life Bob...

I'm not much of a base ball fan, but I'm very much a Hershon poetry fan. He makes it all come alive. Poetry is indeed a universal language.

Thank you for this wonderful poem.
The players' names alone are enough to make me love it. The poem captures with love a sad summer without crowds at baseball games but the
sip of scotch is a great ending. I'm going to get one right now.

I'm glad you like the poem, Karen.

A tip of the hat, with a sip of scotch
or Ceylon tea or celestial pickings
from the refrigerator--or not.
After all, my father had his musings
and sarcastic blurbs and blots,
saying you leave and not miss a thing
and when you come back at 5 o'clock,
players and families still in their seats
might miss the big blasting shot--
so used to nothing happening.
for three hours, they missed the ball
that won my he game of the century.
Lovers of baseball would argue
perhaps the man was just fidgety
or he's in a fog sneaking all that scotch.

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That Ship Has Sailed
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"Lively and affectionate" Publishers Weekly


I left it
on when I
left the house
for the pleasure
of coming back
ten hours later
to the greatness
of Teddy Wilson
"After You've Gone"
on the piano
in the corner
of the bedroom
as I enter
in the dark

from New and Selected Poems by David Lehman


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