A Poem by Gary Margolis
| by Carrie Macfarlane
Thanks to poet Gary Margolis for sharing this library-related poem.
My dear bibliophiles,
no one
in the world better than you
to appreciate how a lifetime
reader feels (read me)
choosing which books
to save, which to box.
Carry to the curb,
to be trucked away.
Donated. Burned.
Buried in the library
of a landfill. For time
to turn its mound
of pages. Some solace,
I suppose, in knowing
a genre
of moles read
in the dark.
As chapters disappear.
As a line in a poem
breaks. Turns. Comes
around. Like a refrain.
An image in the first
sentence of a novel
the writer ends
his story with.
A boat
drifting off
its mooring .
A row boat.
A painter painted
on the dust jacket.
The book designer felt
appropriate.
Would draw the reader in.
Would have her wanting
to see what the boat
could mean. Even if
it meant nothing
on first reading.
And would come to stand
for the invisible
(fisherman).
Who was said to pack
two books
in his bait box.
One for now.
One for later.
-Gary Margolis, Associate Professor (part-time), Department of English and American Literatures
Media Contact
Carrie Macfarlane is the Director of Research & Instruction at the Davis Family Library