Monday, June 6, 2011
Given to me by the author. Inscribed:
This is the beginning of my journey in poetry.
I was touched that Murat gave me this lovely, hardcover edition of his first collection of poems, published in London in 1977. We had a great time driving around town when he was here a few years back. He told me he used to be a rug dealer and that he often traveled from New York to Buffalo to sell Persian rugs. We even passed the dealer to whom he used to sell them.
In other news, you'll need to brace yourselves for some changes around here. We just sold our house and bought another one, which means the whole library is going to be moved once again. It also means that the background image of my window and these lovely bookshelves is going to change to something new. It probably also means that my blog entries will continue to be a bit more spread out until we get settled into the new place.
It's a really cool victorian house that already has some built-ins on the first floor, which will surely be put to use. My study will be on the second floor, towards the rear of the house. Not sure what I plan to do -- I'd like to learn to make my own shelves and do something nifty in there, or add to the ones already in place. We'll see.
from The Bridge
The trees are lonesome in the summer
In the city:
The children have left for summer places;
And I am lonesome in the city;
Old, bearded coffee seats, and backgammon clicks.
I watch old men gossip, with rosy cheeks, about religion.
Their slippered shoes and my sandals,
Their hard soles and my shy smiles. I begged
For nothing. An old man offered a cup of tea.
The hot cup, its stem craning inward, burned my lips.