Day 17 — reading genes + reading droughts

April 17 is my grandmother’s birthday; she would’ve been 101 today. So I wanted to honour her again by a poem that explores my reading ancestry.

The Poetic Factoid was going to be about the correlation between reading & various genetic traits, until I came across a word in my research & I knew the poem had to be about that.

*****

the genetics of reading

looking back through time
     there’s a definite lineage
          a genetic heritage of literature

my mother’s always been deep
     into crime to which I was a late comer
          her greatest gift to me was green Anne
               the Poldarks surprised me by being 
                    much more than mere bodice 
                         ripping regency romances

— teen me returned the favour by hooking her on fabulous fantasy

mum was clearly given gifts from her mother as both
     delighted in the murders & mysteries of Dame Agatha
          Georgette Heyer & Dorothy L Sayers ; gran even
               read James Bond, Alistair McLean & similar thrillers
                    when younger before migrating to Danielle Steele &
                         almost anything Large Print by the end of her eyes

— wish I could’ve got her opinion on Julia Quinn

grandad was much more factual
     a biographical non-fiction kinda guy
          books on birds & the natural world
               histories  the English language 
                    the bulk of which I inherited 
                         including     naturally  fittingly

— his impressive leather bound editions of poetry 

          it gives me great pleasure sharing 
     these generational reading genes (even if 
my pants are a bit bigger than theirs)

******

Day 17 Factoid — to read or not

A Presbyopian Inspired Drought

the one time in my life 
i’ve read very little 
was for a year or so 
a decade ago when 
every book bored me
when i could not
sit still long enough
to complete a chapter
even a couple of pages
it was aberrant behaviour 
for a life long wyrm 

finally i realised 
the print was blurring
eight to ten inches 
from my eyes — but 
within a month
the magic of specially 
tailored super glass
scientifically ordained
specifically adapted
for my ageing eyes
brought the magic back

Day 10 – very serious book crimes + a very silly book heist

Pretty sure that’s not how it looked when I gave it to you

Two poems about very real crimes involving books today. One involving a book of my own (& generic crimes against books) & a Poetic Factoid about a very bungled book heist.

*****

rhyme & punishment (worse than death)

it’s a bit of a hot topic for me but
i’m not a big lender of books
most people (let’s be blunt) 
don’t know how to treat a book right
how to show it a good time
or at least  respect it in the morning 
if i really love a book & want others to too
where possible i’ll buy a second copy
designated purely for lending.

dog-earing  underlining   highlighting
note making in the margins
creasing (or cracking) the spines 
to the point pages are falling out
dropping it in the bath  or the sea 
getting so much sand in it we could build a castle
pages torn out  a bacon bookmark 
discovered greasy in chapter 33  all things 
that would cancel your gareth library card.

i don’t buy the kaka that a dog-eared
battered  beaten up  creased book 
is like the wrinkled face of someone 
who’s lived a full-on life & keeps on smiling
BS  it’s tomestic violence pure & simple.

all of which is reported purely to say this —
don’t think i’ve forgotten Anon Miti
(if indeed that is your real name)
how i leant you a copy of A Trip to the Stars
that you kept for ages  forever saying you’d 
return it  yet always conveniently “forgetting”
& when you did the book was so beaten up 
had green tea poured over half of it
& been used to put out a small brush fire
without technically burning it as some
of the less pleasant folks in history have done

— & yet this was still only the second 
worst thing you ever did to me.

*****

Day 10 Factoid – a pretty slapstick book crime

Special Collections: A Plan to Fail

four freshman friends while on orientation 
of Transylvania University, Kentucky
conclude rare books worth millions 
of dollars are resting in the college
library virtually unsecured
                                             a whacky 
heist  is plotted involving fake beards
& gray wigs  & step by step instructions
involving code names as if from a movie
Mr Green on lookout. Mr Yellow & Mr Pink 
proceed to the Rare Book Room where Mr Yellow 
“brings the elderly librarian down hard & fast” 
with a stun gun. Mr Pink then lets Mr Black
in to help grab the loot before escaping 
via the back exit
                          the plan almost immediately
goes very wrong  causing them to abandon 
many books (the 7 rare Audubons are 
“too heavy to carry”)  
                                   yet they still manage 
to flee the bungled scene  with several books 
total value: three quarters of a million bucks 

they contact Christie’s (using the same fake
email address they set up to contact the library
— & one of their actual cell phone numbers!)
for an appraisal rationalising  “they won’t 
suspect anything cos no one would bring 
in stolen books”
                            Christie’s did in fact 
suspect something
                                & they all spent 7 years in gaol

Day 4 -CRIME DOESN’T PAY

Not sure what’s up with my sleeping patterns at the moment, but my body seems to think key hours of slumber are 8pm-2am. It’s been my standard for the past 3 or 4 nights. Which means I write one of these, put it aside to come back to & then fall asleep before posting it. Sigh. Hopefully things will clear up soon.

Today’s effort was going to be epicreads.com’s “19 Most Anticipated YA Books to Read in April” but I realised the titles, while lovely, were similar in tone to how Day 1 & Day 2’s poems turned out. So I went to one of my desktop folders “Book Lists” (which no doubt will be referred to again later) & pulled up The Irish Times’ “Best crime fiction of 2015” list instead.

Thus we have a dark love poem …

 

Camille

are you watching me
in the world gone by
from the way of sorrows

this is everything i never told you

you were the girl
on the train
in the spider’s web
my gun street girl

even after the fire of silver
bullets   those we left behind
even the dead with our
blessing   shut eyes
& sang their snowy
song of shadows

but black-eyed weeks
walking 
the tight
rope defence
our assassin’s acts   our
killing   weighs down
your drowned boy

I managed to get 19+out of 24 titles in (I challenge anyone to work pleasantville, acts of the assassins, the snow kimono, black-eyed susans & tennison seamlessly into a pome.)

NOTE: Here’s the article if you’re interested in who wrote what.