This is the first of their annual reunions.  I feel lucky, as we live near the college, so all the other students fly into our area-that’s why they stay here before and after the reunion weekend.  I saw them between semesters last year, and was able to catch up on their lives and learning.  One young woman, Callie, lived here for a month before going off to her internship in Australia.  She and Jess worked extremely hard in my bookstore, and truly helped with organizing the shelves.  In fact, Callie is the person who introduced me to Mary Oliver’s poetry, for which I am incredibly grateful.  I cannot wait to see these young adults, and catch up on what they’ve done with their lives~I saw such profound changes in my daughter and the other students during their breaks and after completion.

I’m looking forward to their energy, enthusiasm and stories. Read more about LeapYear here.

Complaint
They call me and I go.
It is a frozen road
past midnight, a dust
of snow caught
in the rigid wheeltracks.
The door opens.
I smile, enter and
shake off the cold.
Here is a great woman
on her side in the bed.
She is sick,
perhaps vomiting,
perhaps laboring
to give birth to
a tenth child. Joy! Joy!
Night is a room
darkened for lovers,
through the jalousies the sun
has sent one gold needle!
I pick the hair from her eyes
and watch the misery
with compassion.

Selected Poems, William Carlos Williams
Introduction by Randall Jarrell. [1991] $10.00


View this book @ My Bookstore

You find in your pocket a key, two keys,
one with a curlicued stem, heavy, absurd,
the other perfectly blank, anonymous.
Who know what they open; you glance at keyholes.
It is like - you can’t, after all, say exactly.

And the rooms, supposing you enter them calmly,
are different from your own; one is bare,
with a gilt-framed mirror facing the door.
Suppose you are tempted to insert your face~
you see a face, and the door closing.

And you go on the half-built boundary,
clicking the keys together, entering.
And you reach, finally, a vivid, absolute place,
and stand in the center, saying to someone,
“Believe. Believe this is what I see.”

Poetry, November 1965, Volume 107, Number 2
Henry Rago, editor. Chicago, Illinois.

Actually, I’m going to a book fair to exhibit my books, and will be playing Minister.  A Book Fair is a Chapel, and holds all that is Holy within.  While there, I want to marry each book to its new owner…even if it means that the new spouse is a swapper (who will loan their books out, and trade for other good books), or a serial monogamist (who is always ready for a new love), or a polygamist (many loves of different genres, all under one roof).  If I were to categorize myself, I think I’d be a cross between a polygamist and a serial monogamist.

However, if I were just a plain ol’ monogamist, would that be to one genre?  One author?  Or just the one, special book?

What relationship do you have with your books?

See me at the Gold Rush Book Fair to be matched up with your new love…

Ah, would that I could hide within my songs

And, every time you sang them, kiss your lips.

Black Marigolds & Coloured Stars.

Translated by E. Powys Mathers, Introduction by Tony Harrison.

Anvil Press, 2004. Softcover. $10.00

I planned to write very little personal content on this blog (focus on the book world). But sometimes the personal takes over, as is the case with Poppy. Some stupid driver…well, you can imagine the rest.

Poppy came to us with her mother and seven siblings. My daughter, Eliza, had decided to foster cats from the Humane Society, and asked me to go through training with her. After the training, we anxiously awaited the call. We were given Ella (I know-you’re not supposed to name your fosters), who was emaciated and talkative, and her ten day old babies. She was such a good mother, constantly feeding and looking out for them. The job proved to be too great for her, and she died after a few weeks, leaving us to raise the babies. We were very concerned about the one small girl, who wasn’t strong enough to make her way through the others to feed herself, and was still crawling when others had begun to jump and run. We fed her a special formula and gave her extra attention, and it began to pay off. She eventually grew to be larger than her brothers (OK, plump), and we found she had the most loving, gentle disposition of them all.

We already had four cats of our own (never more, as there are four of us, and if there were more of them, they’d out-vote us). You can imagine their reaction as these little ones began to waddle, then walk, then run and slide on the wood floors. A bit disdainful at first, the older cats accepted them and joined in the fun. When it was time to return them to the Shelter, as they were now ready to be adopted, we decided to keep three: Max, Kinkers and Poppy. We were able to follow the other five as they made their way to new homes.

Naming Max was easy. Kinkers was named because he looked like a kinkaju as a baby~full name: Kinks T. (for Trouble) Bungalow. Poppy went through several iterations before we found the right name. One night, while watching a movie, she stepped in to a bowl of buttered popcorn and overturned it on herself. She was stuck, and when we lifted the bowl, there was this poor little thing covered in butter and popcorn. She got a bath that night. I think that’s the only time I’ve not seen a smile on her face.

Two outstanding things about Poppy: she was the most affectionate, loving cat we’ve ever had, and she also saw things that no one else could see. She’d go off to “PoppyLand” when she got that look in her eyes, and would run off tweaking and dancing in the air, pouncing on invisibles, tail twitching in circles. And that was her: so alive, so full of warmth and humor.

Losing Poppy reminds us of those we’ve lost recently… far too many.

G built a box for her, we laid flowers on her, and buried her way out in the back, with a poem (me), a prayer (E) and a song (J). G recited names of our lost friends. We put on a good funeral here.

She loved her brothers, pouncing on invisible objects, a good snuggle… but most of all, she loved us. We are lucky to have had her.

Poppy snuggling with her brothers (from top: Kinks, Poppy, Max)

April 26, 2006~April 13, 2008

]]> http://www.the-book-prowler.net/2008/05/poppy/feed/ http://www.the-book-prowler.net/2008/04/the-dumbing-down-of-women%e2%80%99s%e2%80%a6book-covers/ http://www.the-book-prowler.net/2008/04/the-dumbing-down-of-women%e2%80%99s%e2%80%a6book-covers/#comments Thu, 01 May 2008 03:01:45 +0000 The Book Prowler http://the-book-prowler.net/?p=49 I admit to passing on books because of their cover photos, and the blurbs on the back, especially if there’s a plethora of pink, or very high heels on legs that stop at the waist…Do publishers deliberately create these covers in an attempt to attract readers? You bet they do. Do publishers think women are dumb? What do you think?  Click here to read Karen Heller’s thoughts.