It was near the end of a two-week vacation in London last September. We had met a British friend for lunch nearby, and afterward we were walking down Charing Cross toward Trafalgar Square. Blackwell’s was right there, and who am I to pass up an opportunity to step into a bookstore?
I wandered around the shop, until I found the section for poets and poems. It wasn’t what I’ve come to expect in many US book shops – it was large, and it was diverse, with volumes ranging from anthologies and collections by well-known poets to new poetry by people I’d never heard of.
I can’t explain why Robertson’s The Wrecking Light caught my eye. But it did.
To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.