My favorite baseball writer Rob Neyer points me to this column by Joe Posnanski, another well respected baseball writer. I note it here because I like its prose poem about Roberto Clemente.
I’m infatuated with Roberto Clemente. And I know very little about Al Kaline. I doubt this makes me very different from most baseball fans. I’ve mentioned this here before — I believe it was while reading an essay by Nick Hornby that I heard about a prose poet whose poems would be everything they could think of (off the top of the head) about some person or some city or whatever. So …
Roberto Clemente
Born Puerto Rico
Had a fabulous arm.
Was signed by the Brooklyn Dodgers.
Branch Rickey drafted him for the Pirates.
Was called “Bob” on his early baseball cards.
Moody and proud.
Considered hypochondriac in early years.
Ferocious bad ball hitter. Pitchers couldn’t figure him out.
Wasn’t especially fast, but ran bases with abandon.
Doubles became triples.
Hit with heavy bat.
Hit .300 every year of the 1960s. Except crazy ‘68.
Often had nightmares. Couldn’t sleep at all.
Stood up for Latin players. Was as proud and fierce as Jackie.
Could not say no to people in need.
Wore No. 21. Some want that retired for every club.
Cool bones. I think I'll have to give this particular literary technique a try.
