By Amanda Pizzolatto … “When is anyone going to be able to read on St. George’s Day?” Porter laughed. “Oh, we just give the books on St. George’s Day, we don’t start reading until we’ve finished cleaning the next day. It’s why we get that day off.”
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By Lawrence “Mack in Texas” Hall … When I was a child I read without discipline: / Robert A. Heinlein, Robin Hood, cowboy yarns / Pirates raiding across the Spanish Main / Penrod and Sam, Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn…
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By Lawrence “Mack in Texas” Hall … We can’t take our books with us when we die / That reality shouldn’t bother me, but it does: / The copy of The Brothers Karamazov / I carried in Viet-Nam – off to a re-sale shop?
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…tyrants don’t want people thinking for themselves. Books are dangerous to bullies, whether they are Hitler, Stalin, Ho Chi Minh, Vlad the Bad Putin, Chairman Xi, or the Ms. Grundy down the street.
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At least I think I read it, did I not? / The book exists and was read, but by whom? / I’m beginning to feel that I’m the trousered ape / Who feels that a slide rule is for scratching one’s back
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We all dream of our own library someday
Shelf after shelf of finely bound editions
An oak-paneled room with a stone fireplace
And French windows that open to the sea
Why are there now so many books of lists of ten things we must do before we die? Why not nine, or eleven? And why should pay someone for a list of experiences he says you and I must fulfill before we shuffle off what Shakespeare is pleased to call this mortal coil?
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Why are there now so many books of lists of ten things we must do before we die? Why not nine, or eleven? And why should pay someone for a list of experiences he says you and I must fulfill before we shuffle off what Shakespeare is pleased to call this mortal coil? Will my life be meaningless if I don’t jump out of an airplane over Scotland, see a famous statue in a Buddhist temple in Bangladesh, eat fried snake in Singapore, bicycle through Kenya, visit some snaky island off Honduras, or flush a certain Czarist toilet in St. Petersburg?
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Books are secret places where words go to hide
When the world goes wrong, and children are hurt
By grownups who never learned how to read or love
Or even tell funny stories around the campfire…
Book shops offer us civilizations
Democracies of the living and the dead –
Wordsworth, Shakespeare, Langston Hughes, and you
Over cups of coffee wrangling meter and rhyme…
There is a fashion – and as fashions come, they go – of decolonizing one’s bookshelf. The idea is that the reader should self-interrogate his (the pronoun is gender-neutral) cultural influences and determine if they are not right, not approved, not liked. Or, as Pasternak’s officious, oppressive, busy-body Soviet Deputy says, noticed.
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LogoSophia Magazine 