Day 06 — collecting books + obsessions

Collecting is a strange thing. It’s sometimes hard to explain why one does it. For example, I like things to do with chickens. So I have prints, statues, sculptures, plates, even a pair of bookends featuring chooks.

So too with books. I have many diverse interests (more specific than just big genre-size categories: fantasy, science-fiction, historical, crime, or non-fiction like science [itself having many subcategories I collect: physics, the universe/astronomy, nature/biology, the elements, etc], history [WW1&2, British/Australian, Palestine/Israel, etc], politics, travel writing, & so on) or the work of specific favourite writers that I must own everything of theirs they write.

Sometimes I acquire small collections about topics I think I might one day write about. Thus I have numerous books about Gold, Winemaking, Christmas, Lighthouses, Chocolate, & so on.

But then there’s sets of books I’m simply compelled to buy. No matter how awful they might be. Even if I’ll never read them. Simply because they fall into one of my Pet Loves categories. They make up the matter for this poem.

The first quote that I saw upon googling for my Poetic Factoid broke me. I knew I couldn’t improve on it. Thus what you get today is pretty brief … but I hope I’ve been a little creative with its form.

*****

collectabilia: pet loves

Foxes, Wolves, Owls, Crows, Ravens
any book with these words
in the title must become mine 
   (several, several times)

Cornwall
sirensong, family ancestry, Famous Fivery
long ago looking at Land’s End in an atlas 
& wanting to watch the sun set over the sea there

Venice
love affair with a magical city
began long before i ever travelled there
spent more time in fictional Venice than La Serenissima herself

Heron
less common to come across these 
but treasure every quirky title concerning
my gangly soul spirit animal

Hare
love their wild solo madness 
many of these titles are delightfully illustrated
children’s books — which is okay by me

Booker winners
an ever growing bookcase 
chronologically filled with annual shortlistees
& winners — I’ve even read some of them

still there’s many more: Dogs, Dandelions, Bees, 
books on Eden Valley (not the one I live in
but the English one I’d like to live in)

to be honest — the list probably never ends 
just diverges into smaller 
& smaller subsets

of one

*****

Day 06 FactoidIs book collecting is an obsession?

Jeanette Winterson wrote “Book collecting is an obsession, an occupation, a disease, an addiction, a fascination, an absurdity, a fate. It is not a hobby. Those who do it must do it.” Discuss. 

Ummm, 

what
               Jeannette
                                         said!

Day 07 – ordinary days (& extraordinary nights)

Open doorway

A fun little exercise whereby I describe the things I’ve done today in more abstract ways via unordinary day alchemy; ie, went to the shops & bought vegies might be unordinary day alchemised to hunted in the long cool aisles for prey that cannot outrun me. Fear not, the examples in the poems are better (I hope 😂)

on an unordinary day 

i now have

half a dozen doorways
to new nowhere rooms
if only i can get them home

two notebooks which float

more stories i own
but likely never know

two big volumes of all
the old words of once were

somewhere silky
to rest my migraine
& learn new dreams

plus a full tank to take me there

 


 

BONUS POEM: April 7, 2018

A poetic love fable. Inspired, this may come as no surprise, by the fact that Venezia has somewhat scrambled my otherwise fairly reasonable compass. Conceived on one bewildered journey; completed on several others when I set out to deliberately wander writing lines in my head as I went …

The poem so far I’m most pleased with 😁
[2019 edit: even more pleased with it following a few tweaks 😁😁]

*****

The 1000 Ways to San Marco Piazza

my love lives in Dorsoduro ; I, in Castello ; & every morning ; she promises to meet me ; in San Marco’s Piazza at sunset ; she says if we find each other there ; our love will last

if I had the talent ; I’d pen a postmodern novel ; telling of the thousand ways ; we never meet ; a short chapter ; a paragraph; even just a line, a single word ; about how my unerring ability ; to lose my way ; dooms me ; where every route I choose ; is wrong

the one where I see her on another Ponte, chase her, see her on other Pontes, but I never get closer ; the one where every Calle is a dead end ; the where I find a letter on the cobblestones from her to another ; the one where I fall in ; the one with a Calle so narrow my shoulders touch each wall, closer, closer, till I am wedged tight; the one where I meet another who might in fact be : the one true one

nights thick with the stink of summer tourists ; nights where the waters are still obsidian; nights when I don’t want to leave the house ; nights when I am dying to ; muggy shirts sticky nights ; wet winter nights ; nights where la Serenissima is a dream ; nights where only it is

& maybe ; one night ; when I least expect ; I will arrive ; & so will she ; & we ; will meet 

07b Calle