Vox Populi
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Stuart Kestenbaum: Pretend for Real
I was once the star second baseman for the New York Yankees. It didn’t matter that I was 9 years old and only had a pink rubber ball that I would throw repeatedly against the brick wall of our house and that the infield was our driveway–I could field every grounder and line drive. Maybe catch a pop up that I’d toss into the air. And if I made an error, I could always redeem myself with the next imaginary batter hitting into a double play.
Enthusiastic as I was, my baseball skills never reached major league standards, but I loved the play of it, the nothing could go wrong and even if it did, I could fix it sense of this game.
Last week I became a tiger in my son’s living room, nurturing one grandson who was a tiger cub and chasing another grandson who was a gazelle. I didn’t choose the animals, but I willingly transformed myself. The chase was thrilling and if the gazelle was caught, it was easily resurrected for another run across the grasslands.
I’ve never doubted my ability to play, to pretend (from Latin praetendere ‘stretch forth, claim’); I feel most myself when my imagination and the things of the world come together and I can claim that territory of possibility.
It has taken me much longer as a writer to stretch forth in the same way. Getting ready to write can be anti-mantra or playground taunt: there’s nothing there, there’s too much there, I can’t find it here or there. I spent years not letting the free spirited side of me gallop into my artistic life. I thought that there were standards to uphold or expectations to deliver on.
The only expectation for me is to have no expectation. In making art or writing there is no ‘supposed to be’. There is only what’s in front of you. Isn’t making metaphors a game? One thing becomes another thing and is itself at the same time. It’s the world reimagining its borders. One metaphor begets another image and we are just like the little boy Harold in the children’s picture book Harold and the Purple Crayon, drawing our world as we’re living in it. This isn’t to say that we’re in control. We’re in control enough. Enough to get things started.
It may seem wrong or at least incongruous to write about play when the world is falling apart wherever we turn. Last week I was having breakfast with some friends and someone made a silly joke. I found myself laughing uncontrollably, laughing so hard that I was crying too, which is to say that even when we’re playing, it’s serious business. We can’t intend anything. We can’t intend to make the perfect work or intend to travel deep into our souls. We can’t intend transformation for ourselves or the world. We can throw the ball against the wall and see where it bounces, field it, and throw it again.
Copyright 2024 Stuart Kestenbaum. First published in Maine Arts Journal.
Stuart Kestenbaum is the author of six collections of poems. In 2024, he and visual artist Susan Webster published A Quiet Book, collaborations in writing and visual art (Brynmorgen Press).
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“We can’t intend to make the perfect work or intend to travel deep into our souls. We can’t intend transformation for ourselves or the world. We can throw the ball against the wall and see where it bounces, field it, and throw it again.”
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Play. I remember the neighborhood kids playing army, girls relegated to being nurses when someone was shot. I had a crush on a kid named Tommy Good. 50 years later I learned he died in Vietnam along with many others from my high school yearbook. Perhaps we will stop having wars when more kids play baseball than play war. Or is war the flaw that will end the human experiment? Maybe octopi will take our place. They are smart and learn fast.
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I vote for the octopi.
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I became obsessed with throwing a ball against a wall. I announced the game, had my baseball cards to give hints of each batter’s history, then I scored the games, and even had standings. All this with a rubber handball booming in the hall. My parents seemed to accept the noise.
Poetry can be that playful way too, but my left brain needed the order I created with the stats and commentary, and critiques of the imaginary participants. One side effect was that it helped in later life, as I now remember the virtues of that solitude. Thanks for the great essay.
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Thanks, Jim.
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“The only expectation for me is to have no expectation. In making art or writing there is no ‘supposed to be’. There is only what’s in front of you. Isn’t making metaphors a game?” Thanks for this piece, Stuart Kestenbaum — and Michael!
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Stuart is quietly, subtly, stubbornly brilliant.
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Hear, Hear! Thank you, Stuart Kestenbaum. Thank you, Michael, for another wonderful pairing of voices to begin my day.
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Stuart’s essays are little gems of spiritual insight disguised as common sense.
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This so resonates with me. Remember playing with my grandchildren, making caves out of blankets and placing crystals all around to keep us all safe against the evil hordes. I still remember their expression of security – Grandma’s crystals are keeping us safe…I remember almost weeping because I knew just how unsafe we all are in this world. But maybe the art of play teaches us what it feels like to be safe, helps us internalize that sensation and what we need to be safe in our lives. So yes, play is a truly serious part of life. Thank you for this.
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Oh yes, play is essential for all mammals. It is the way that children, puppies, kittens, colts… discover the world through their bodies.
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My 7 mo. old grandson would agree, through his endless acts of exploration.
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Oh yes!
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