In The 13th Sunday after Pentecost, Joseph Bathanti offers poems
that delve deep into a life reimagined through a mythologized past.
Moving from his childhood to the present, weaving through the
Italian immigrant streets of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, to his
parochial school, from the ballpark to church and home again, these
contemplative poems present a situation unique to the poet but
familiar to us all. As Bathanti recalls the joys, struggles, and
confusion of his formative years in the late fifties and into the
sixties, he gains a deeper understanding of the often surreal,
always paradoxical world around him. He explores the perceived
injustices of childhood, observes the mysteries of religious
rituals, and examines the complex emotions families experience as
children grow up and parents grow old. These poems divulge an
eventful life, compelling us to reflect on our own as we confront a
world of wonder and uncertainty. ""Across the strike zone swoops a
dove, // maybe an angel. You're in Pittsburgh, // March; it's
snowing. All week // you've seen angels; everyone's tired, //
proclaiming even horrid things angels, // intimating miracles.
Johnson's pitch // obliterates the bird- // a hail of feathers and
dander, // as if inside a tiny bomb detonated. // Like a cartoon.
Thoroughly unbelievable. // Around you, people are dying. // But
you ignore it. // You laugh at the massacred dove. // It's not
funny, but you laugh. // You could cry, rip your hair out, your
clothes off, // crash through the seventhfloor window // into the
slushy black streets of the city. // It's funny because it's not.""
- from Angels
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