Staying in the 'happy' mode, I visited a used book store today. I love them, the shelves packed with musty old tomes, the aisles dangerously lined with tottering piles of printed knowledge. I hit the history and politics section and picked up a couple of oldies in the interest of learning more about the growing pains of America. Then, off to the poetry section where I found a nice first edition of Homeward to America, the first offering of poems by John Ciardi, published in 1940. Wow, great stuff in there, written by the son of Italian Imigrants. This foray into obscure poets always brings a smile to my face and thoughts to my cluttered mind, much needed thoughts. I love to find a gem of a line from a poet that no one knows. For instance: The spread maps leave no gap: it is done: / There are no Americas beyond this and Atlantis known / A graveyard from a poem entitled 'Continent's Edge'. Telling, this line, at least to me, and here we are, doing our best to squander what those before us have paid so dearly for.
What happened to the poets that loved this Country? That loved their fellow man, foibles and all? It seems now to be a celebrated poet one must complain about something or scream for the overthrow of the oppressive yoke of the American government. Of course, these poets are screaming while accepting money from the government they are debasing, money that the government has taken from hardworking Americans.
Grrrr, I started happy and now my head aches. Perhaps a walk in the waning moonlight with thoughts of the weekend, with a planned trip to an auction or two and the anticipation of finding more books!
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