A Chatoyant Fleck

Over the years, I have collected many books. I bought many of them at bookstores and yard sales. Most I picked up for free on the side of the road. In “war-ravaged” Portland, where I live, many people have these outdoor libraries. They look like birdhouses for books. I take a lot of books from these little houses on poles.

What is the Point of All These Books?

There is a house in my neighborhood that has a large window that opens to their front room. At night the room is candescent. I can almost feel the warmth seeping through the glass. As I pass this house on my nightly dog walk, my eyes involuntarily turn as my head stays forward. It is rude to look into peoples’ houses. Yet, I can’t help but sneak a peak at their arching book shelves built in to the walls. Glorious books stacked like a rainbow bending over heads as they pass in and out of the room. I ache with jealousy. I turn my eyes away, staring past my nose and onto the sidewalk that supports my steps. I’m on my way to pick up a book from the street corner. It will join all the other books I have collected over the years. I have dreams of built-in book shelves.

The books are all over my house. I don’t have enough shelves to store them so they stack in corners and under window sills. Books as decorations can be nice, but truthfully what is the use of books if you don’t read them? These collective containers of words can give the impression of intelligence and knowledge, but they must be read to actually gain intelligence and knowledge. That’s how these things work. I’ve carted books from home to new home to new home. Packed and unpacked, stacked and un-stacked only to re-stack, but when do I read? What do I read? I estimate that I have about 200 books scattered throughout my home and I’ve only read 10% of those books. As a reminder, most of these books were picked up off the side of the road. They are a very diverse selection of books that range from fiction to philosophy to politics to history to poetry. Personally, I gravitate to literature, which is part of why I have been so slow to read many of the books I’ve collected. Of course, I want to know all about The Power of Habit, but when it comes to reading for pleasure, I’m going to chose to read A Moveable Feast instead.

Still, what is the point of gathering and collecting all of these books if I am not going to read them?

A Reading Decision

This is one of those moments when I can make a small life goal. A SMART goal. I’ve always had trouble making SMART goals. Which is why I’m not a success story. However, I can keep trying. I’m not getting any younger. I know I will never be able to read all of the books in life that I would like, but I can try to read the books I have in my house. So, that’s what I decided to do. No more new books until I read what I already have on my bookshelf.

Robert Frost’s Pocket Book of Poems

One of the first books I picked up to read is a collection of poems by Robert Frost. I know Robert Frost. I think, perhaps, anyone that has gone to school knows Robert Frost. If a person was never gifted with an education it is still likely that they have encountered some Robert Frost. “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening”. Two roads diverge in “The Road Not Taken”, an often misquoted poem. These poems have been repeated in American English classes from middle school to college. Personally, I like the one about the man, who when looking at birch branches, remembers being a young boy and swinging from the boughs of trees in the poem “Birches”. It seems like every American and perhaps beyond America, knows at least part of two of these poems. Yet, what about his other work?

My first street book, taken from a street library that I’ve passed in my neighborhood walks, is The Pocket Book of Robert Frost’s Poems. The book is tattered. The spine splitting. The cover creased and curling at the corners. Many pages are stained red from the red cover pages probably due to inclement weather or maybe a water spill. Did the original owner purchase it for the love of reading Robert Frost or because of an English course?

I salvaged the little pocket book because I thought I knew Robert Frost, but after thumbing through the pages, and scanning the table of contents, I realized, I don’t know Robert Frost. Although, I’m about to.

A Poetry Blog or Book Review?

I have many neglected blogs. They are neglected; due to my lack of interest in writing; due to my lack of interest in living; due to my depression which was recently diagnosed. I suppose writing this post at all is a tiny sign that maybe I’m climbing out of this hole that my brain and hormones have dug. I bring up my other neglected blogs because I could have written this post on any one of them, but I chose this one. The one that focuses on poetry, because my first book is a book of poems. And, although this blog is also neglected it is still a blog about poetry.