The
used book store where I spent a fair amount of money in the last 20 years has
moved locations, forced to vacate the 19th century farmhouse to make
way for a storage facility. Its future was uncertain, but in the past week it
reopened in a storefront two miles to the east.
I’m
glad it’s survived, but I’ll miss the old poetry nook, nestled as it was in a
small, sloped-ceiling room in the gable above the main door and filled with
poets and poems. You have to bend over the make it through the small door
leading to the poetry books, and once inside (two people was a major crowd),
you couldn’t stand unless bent over. It was easier to sit on the floor, peruse
the books and keep an eye on the black cat asleep on the pillow, inspired, no
doubt, by T.S.
Eliot.
One
volume I found in the nook was a first edition of Robert Penn Warren’s Selected
Poems 1923-1975, in hardback and priced at $14.50. You pick up a book
like this, and experience a flood of memories.
To
continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak
Poetry.
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