Jesuit Journeys
Spring 2007

Of Poetry, Baseball and Spring

By Fr. James Gladstone, SJ

I don’t remember when I started to like poetry. But then again, I don’t remember when I started to like pickles or olives. All of a sudden I began to acquire a taste for something many passed up.

I don’t remember when I started to like baseball either. I was pretty certain I could play baseball well into middle age. When you are 10 that will never really come. In fact I could not imagine myself doing anything more worthwhile and more all consuming.

When I was in grade school I memorized some poems which dwelt mostly with nature. In high school I was exposed to the Jesuit JUG (Judgment Under God) which in my day was always memorization of poetry. If you did not master the poem in the time allotted you were given another opportunity. The next day! Some people assume from the number of poems I have memorized that I was a regular participant in JUG at Campion. I was not.

For some mysterious reason my Jesuit education lit a candle in my soul that helped me to appreciate the beauty of poetry without forcing it down my throat, to recover and mix the metaphor of pickles and olives. For some reason not even JUG did that.

I came to realize that poetry had to be heard, read aloud to be grasped and appreciated.

I was fortunate to have many truly wonderful Jesuits who taught me English literature and opened my heart to this great treasure of poetry, but no one that I can say was solely responsible for my appreciation. I had already gone beyond “liking.” Strangely enough though, I am quite fond of Emily Dickinson and Fr. Gerard Manley Hopkins, SJ though I never had a class from the revered Jesuit, Fr. Leonard Waters.

Before I move too far ahead I must relate my world of baseball. Football and basketball were OK (no one had heard of soccer and golf was too expensive) but size did not matter in baseball; you just had to hit and catch and throw. And almost everyone can do that!

The dead period from the end of the World Series until the beginning of spring training offered the real devotees a time for reverie and dreaming.Would Ralph Kiner or Hank Sauer, who hit so many homeruns for the other teams, really help the Cubs whose management had a penchant for hiring players in their waning years? Would Bill Nicholson strike out more times than he got hits?

Having been a Jesuit for 50 years, my preference in poetry has centered on religious experiences, and the liturgical seasons have somehow mirrored the natural seasons, at least in the Western calendar.

Spring evokes a fresh beginning, an awakening, new life, an Easter glory.

Who can say how it happened: gradually truth and beauty began to take precedence to the all important statistics of the baseball world.

Now when I wait in a doctor’s or dentist’s office I refrain from paging through old “People” magazines and spend some time reviewing my repertoire of poems. However, during these poetry reviews I refrain from keeping my commandment of oral recitation, lest the other patients have no doubt what doctor awaits.

Fr. Gladstone offers this verse by Fr. Gerard Manley Hopkins, SJ as perfect for the season.

Easter
Break the box and shed the nard; Stop not now to count the cost; Hither bring pearl, opal, sard; Rock not what the poor have lost; Upon Christ throw all away; Know ye, this is Easter Day.

Build His church and deck His shrine, Empty though it be on earth; Ye have kept your choicest wine – Let it flow for heavenly mirth; Pluck the harp and breathe the horn; Know ye not ‘tis Easter morn?

Gather gladness from the skies; Take a lesson from the ground; Flowers do ope their heavenward eyes And a Spring-time joy have found; Earth throws Winter’s robes away, Decks herself for Easter Day.

Beauty now for ashes wear, Perfumes for the garb of woe, Chaplets for disheveled hair, Dances for sad footsteps slow; Open wide your hearts that they Let in joy this Easter Day.

Seek God’s house in happy throng; Crowded let His table be; Mingle praises, prayer and song, Singing to the Trinity. Henceforth let your souls always Make each morn an Easter Day.