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.
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