· 25 February 2016 ·
[A new poem expressing my agreement with Red Smith]
Red Smith was an esteemed American sport journalist who wrote, very well, during most of the 20th century. He possessed a wonderful facility with the English language (so remarkable in a Colonial), and he knew the profound truth of the writer’s art, which applies even when the subject is a baseball game or a horse race.
I’ve been bouncing back and forth between limericks and new sonnets lately, and as I sat at my desk in mid-haemorrhage, Smith’s celebrated quotation came to mind. He might not have been the first to utter the thought, but he said it best.