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Poète en vedette

Marty Gervais

Marty Gervais est poète, photographe, journaliste et historien. Il est l'auteur du best-seller canadien The Rumrunners et a publié plus de deux douzaines de livres de poésie. Gervais est le premier poète officiel de Windsor en Ontario et il a reçu la Médaille du jubilé de la Reine ainsi que le prix du Harbourfront International Authors' Festival pour son travail de mentorat auprès des écrivaines et écrivains en herbe. Ses photographies ont été exposées en France, en Irlande, aux États-Unis et dans tout le Canada. M. Gervais est également l'éditeur de Black Moss Press, l'une des plus anciennes maisons d'édition littéraire du Canada.



Poème en vedette

Mickey Mantle’s Last At Bat at Tiger Stadium

I remember that day, Sept. 19, 1968 —

I was sitting at a lunch counter at a Coney Island joint

on Lafayette in downtown Detroit, just minutes

from Tiger Stadium and the radio carried

the mellifluous voice of Ernie Harwell — one out

and nobody on the bases. Tigers in the lead 6-1 

top of the 8th inning and coming to the plate

the great Mickey Mantle, and on the mound

the cocky Detroit right-hander Denny McLain

who was cruising to his 31st win


and what happened next nobody knows for sure

except maybe McLain, but Mantle signalled

for a fastball, letter high, and McLain standing

tall on the mound — his cap yanked down

shading his eyes, and peered up to get a better look

like someone wearing bifocals, and nodded slowly


and the next thing you knew was the delivery

of a tailor-made pitch, and the ball sailing

like a rocket into the right field seats —a spoon-fed

535th career homer, packaged up with a ribbon

laced around it and a message loud and clear

Here you go!  You don’t need to ask twice


Years later, I talked with McLain at a Detroit

radio station — he was nearly 300 pounds

his famous right hand now like a machine crushing

and slamming one tin coke can after another

into a nearby pail all through the broadcast

and I spoke with him another time right

after he got out of jail and was slinging, not fastballs

but slurpees at 7-11 and once more I asked 

Do you remember that  day with Mantle?” And again

he smiled,“C’mon, I was 24!” But not before

simultaneously and quietly flashing that steely gaze

of a pitcher, chin tucked down, and his big

right hand in slow motion lobbing a fake pitch

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