Poem Of The Week: Polo Grounds

If you’ve heard of Rolfe Humphries, it’s because of his work as a translator. Many people consider his translatio nthe definitive English version of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. But this poem is about another kind of mythology – that of baseball and time, Carl Hubbell and Jon McGraw and lesser known players like the poet’s father, John Humphries. It was first published in the New Yorker in 1942, so you know it’s good.

Polo Grounds

Time is of the essence. This is a highly skilled

And beautiful mystery. Three or four seconds only

From the time that Riggs connects till he reaches first,

And in those seconds Jurges goes to his right,

Comes up with the ball, tosses to Witek at second,

For the force on Reese, Witek to Mize at first,

In time for the out—a double play.

(Red Barber crescendo. Crowd noises, obbligato;

Scattered staccatos from the peanut boys,

Loud in the lull, as the teams are changing sides) . . .

Hubbell takes the sign, nods, pumps, delivers—

A foul into the stands. Dunn takes a new ball out,

Hands it to Danning, who throws it down to Werber;

Werber takes off his glove, rubs the ball briefly,

Tosses it over to Hub, who goes to the rosin bag,

Takes the sign from Danning, pumps, delivers—

Low, outside, ball three. Danning goes to the mound,

Says something to Hub, Dunn brushes off the plate,

Adams starts throwing in the Giant bullpen,

Hub takes the sign from Danning, pumps, delivers,

Camilli gets hold of it, a long fly to the outfield,

Ott goes back, back, back, against the wall, gets under it,

Pounds his glove, and takes it for the out.

That’s all for the Dodgers. . . .

Time is of the essence. The rhythms break,
More varied and subtle than any kind of dance;
Movement speeds up or lags. The ball goes out
In sharp and angular drives, or long slow arcs,
Comes in again controlled and under aim;
The players wheel or spurt, race, stoop, slide, halt,
Shift imperceptibly to new positions,
Watching the signs according to the batter,
The score, the inning. Time is of the essence.

Time is of the essence. Remember Terry?

Remember Stonewall Jackson, Lindstrom, Frisch,

When they were good? Remember Long George Kelly?

Remember John McGraw and Benny Kauff?
Remember Bridwell, Tenney, Merkle, Youngs,
Chief Meyers, Big Jeff Tesreau, Shufflin’ Phil?
Remember Mathewson, Ames, and Donlin,
Buck Ewing, Rusie, Smiling Mickey Welch?
Remember a left-handed catcher named Jack Humphries,
Who sometimes played the outfield, in ’83?

Time is of the essence. The shadow moves
From the plate to the box, from the box to second base,
From second to the outfield, to the bleachers.
Time is of the essence. The crowd and players
Are the same age always, but the man in the crowd
Is older every season. Come on, play ball!

2 Responses to “Poem Of The Week: Polo Grounds”

  • OMG, I thought I’d never see this poem again after I lost track of my copy of Fred Schwed, Jr.’s “How to Watch a Baseball Game”. Thanks for putting this up. Someone remind me how we lived before the Internet.

    Please correct “obbligatio”, though. It’s “obbligato”.

  • Corrected. Thanks for the comment.

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