A bookish gem...

Title & Author:  The Lost For Words Bookshop by Stephanie Butland
Setting: York, England

First paragraph: A book is a match in the smoking second between strike and flame. Archie says books are our best lovers and our most provoking friends. He's right, but I'm right, too. Books can really hurt you.

Main Character:  Loveday Cardew--an introvert who "isn't very social" but who loves books and has the first lines from several of her favorite novels tattooed on her body. She's also a poet who's guarded, fiercely independent ...and a bit fragile, too, especially when it comes to opening up and trusting others.

My thoughts:  I love Butland's writing and how she weaves together the pieces of Loveday's past and present into one magical, unputdownable story. Nathan, the magician/poet Loveday meets at the bookshop is one of my favorite characters; I love how he interacts with Loveday, and how their relationship slowly grows over time. There's a bit of an intriguing mystery, too, regarding Loveday and how books from her past keep showing up at the Lost For Words Bookshop. It was unexpected and added to the fun. All in all, I really loved this book. It's one I could happily read again....and again.

Happy Reading!

April = National Poetry Month

Instead of revisiting some of my favorite poets this month (ie. Frost, Stafford, Teasdale, Millay, Noyes, Poe, Parker, Plath and Hughes), I decided to try someone new. Two someones. And I'm glad I did. Because I found new favorite poems in both collections.

the princess saves herself in this one

            by amanda lovelace

ah, life--

the thing

that happens

to us

while we're off

somewhere else

blowing on

dandelions

& wishing

ourselves into

the pages of

our favorite

 fairy tales.

the princess i was born

a little bookmad.

i could be found stroking

the spines of my books

while i sat locked alone                                                 

inside my tower bedroom.

all the while, i hoped my books

would spill their exquisite words

over the lush green carpet

so i could collect them one by one

& savor them like

berries inside my mouth

              --forever a collector of words

The Rose That Grew From Concrete

by Tupac Shakur

If I Fail

If in my quest 2 achieve my goals

I stumble or crumble and lose my soul

Those that knew me would easily co-sign

There was never a life as hard as mine

No father--no money--no chance and no guide

I only follow my voice inside

if it guides me wrong and I do not win

I'll learn from mistakes and try 2 achieve again.

In the Even of My Demise

    (Dedicated 2 those curious)

In the event of my demise

when my heart can beat no more

I Hope I Die For a Principle

or A Belief that I had lived 4

I will die Before my Time

Because I feel the shadow's Depth

So much I wanted 2 accomplish

Before I reached my Death

I have come 2 grips with the possibility

and wiped the last tear from my eyes

I LOVED ALL who were Positive

In the event of my Demise!

So, here's to reading some good poetry this month!

(And if you leave a comment, be sure to tell me your favorite poet.)

Happy Reading!

Short Poems I Love...

      Between the moon coming out
      And the sun going in, --
      the red dragonflies.
                --Nikyu

The Coyote in the Zoo

by William Stafford

A yellow eye meets mine;

I suddenly know, too late,

the land outside belongs

to the one that looks away.

     I felt like kissing swords                                   

     because their glimmer                            

     reminded me of your smile.           

                                                             

 --Antara  (Pre-Islamic Knight Poet)

Juncos

by William Stafford

They operate from elsewhere,

Some hall in the mountains--

quick visit, gone.

Specialists on branch ends,

Craft union. I like their

clean little coveralls.

Happy National Poetry Month!

R Shelf Serendipity...

Author: Vaddey Ratner

Title: In the Shadow of the Banyan

Smoke was everywhere, as black as the soldiers' clothes. On sidewalks, books and papers burned in piles. Ashes flew up into the air, like burnt butterflies. I wondered why they were called Khmer Rouge--"Red Khmer." There was nothing red about them ... I wondered what they were really. Soldiers or peasants? Children or adults? They looked neither like devarajas nor rakshasas, the mythical gods and demons I'd imagined them to be; in those plain black clothes they looked more like a race of shadows, each one a repetition of the others.

Raami is seven when the Khmer Rouge overrun Phnom Penh and her family's life of royal privilege quickly comes to an end. They're forced to leave their home in Phnom Penh and flee to the country. Then the Kamaphibal, the leaders of the Revolution, make them move again. And when they discover that her father is Sisowath Ayuravann, a well-educated prince and poet, they take him away. Raami, her mother, and her little sister are soon separated from the rest of their family and sent to a poor village among the rice paddies to work. Raami is bereft without her father, as is her beautiful mother. Somehow they must learn to survive in a Cambodia they no longer recognize.

Lightning struck, the sky roared, and the night cried a giant's tears, thunderous and inconsolable.

Ratner based her novel on her own life and her writing is magical. If I tried to write down all of my favorite passages I'd end up copying the entire book. It makes my own words feel so inadequate. Saying that this novel is compelling and powerful; sad, but somehow still full of hope, does not do it justice.  Ratner's writing is storytelling at its finest.

Needless to say, I loved this book. I was lucky enough to visit Cambodia six years ago and reading this book brought it all back:  theBuddhist temples, the tall gum trees, the thatched houses on stilts, the ox-carts, the rice fields, and most of all, the resilient people. This is definitely one of the best books I've read all year!

Words, you see, allow us to make permanent what is essentially transient. Turn a world filled with injustice and hurt into a place that is beautiful and lyrical.

Happy Reading!

 

Reading the Alphabet, Part X...

There aren't a lot of authors whose last names begin with the letter X, at least, not at my library. And the few books I did find on the library shelf weren't ones I wanted to read. I was just about to give up on the letter X altogether when I remembered that April is National Poetry Month. So, I went to check out the 800s and serendipitously stumbled upon Notes on the Mosquito by Xi Chuan (translated by Lucas Klein). I love the imagery in his poetry; and found his later prose poems to be very powerful. But since I'm no literary critic, I'll let Xi Chuan's words speak for themselves.

Here are a few stanzas from Answering Venus (45 Fragments):
1.
night is the sleep of seven wax moths
dawn is the singing of five mermaids
noon is the scratching of three field mice
dusk is the shadow of a crow

8.
If I breathe, what will my heart think?
If I vomit, what will my soul think?

14.
in sudden loneliness
someone who rarely worries can't help but sob

33.
when my life is a mess
my watch is particularly precise

37.
no one has yet tested the pencil
to see how many words it can write


And here's the first part of his prose poem Salute:

Depression. A suspended gong. A leopard dozing in the basement. A spiral staircase. A torch at night. A city gate. Cold that touches a blade of grass beneath an ancient constellation. Concealed flesh. Undrinkable water. An ice cube floating like a giant vessel. Its passenger a bird. A blocked canal. An unborn girl. Unformed tears. Unenforced punishments. Chaos. Balance. Ascent. Blankness... How can depression be discussed without error? Facing flower petals descending at a crossroads, consider the cost of desperate risk-taking.

Depression: an immovable ocean.
Civilization written on the seventh page of suffering.

I want to shout, to force steel to echo, to force mice so accustomed to secrecy to line up before me. I want to shout, but I suppress my voice so I'm not abusive, so I whisper like the wind instead of booming like a cannon. Stronger heartbeats follow a greater silence; I see reserves of water drunk dry, so scream! Oh I want to scream, when a hundred crows cackle I have no golden tongue--I'm a bad omen.

Too many desires, not enough seawater.
Fantasies require capital for sustenance.

Let roses correct our errors, let thunder rebuke us! On a slow journey, no asking the destination. The moment the moth hits the flame it's inopportune to discuss eternity, it's hard to find proof of perfection.

Memory: my textbook
Love: the unfinished business of the heart.

Good, huh?

Happy Reading!

It's April...

...which means it is also National Poetry Month. To honor the occasion, I decided to read a poem or two and post them here, but then I saw this particular book of poetry and I just couldn't resist:

Zombie Haiku by Ryan Mecum

What does a poet do when he turns into a zombie? He chronicles his descent into mindless flesh-eating hunger with a series of clever and funny (and sometimes disgusting) haiku. Talk about creative! This 139-page book is hilarious, and I loved it! Here are a few of my favorite zombie haiku:

My town is broken.

From this view, I see the end.

Below, they gather.

There's nothing quite like

the pain you feel while dying--

switching to hunger.

I keep saying "brains".

I remember other words,

but I just need one.

Happy Reading!

On Sara Teasdale's Birthday...

Sir William Orpen -- Grace Reading at Howth Bay

"I Have Loved Hours At Sea"

by Sara Teasdale

I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,

The fragile secret of a flower,

Music, the making of a poem

That gave me heaven for an hour;

First stars above a snowy hill,

Voices of people kindly and wise,

And the great look of love, long hidden,

Found at last in meeting eyes.

I have loved much and been loved deeply--

Oh when my spirit's fire burns low,

Leave me the darkness and the stillness,

I shall be tired and glad to go.

Celebrating Poe's 204th Birthday!

Edgar Allan Poe

A Dream Within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow--

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if Hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand--

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep - while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?