Book Life

Second hand is a cold term, these books have been loved and now are moving on to new lovers.

‘You are the only person I know who reads poetry’. A phone call from a friend who is helping another friend pack up the home of her parents; both of whom had been life long academics at Melbourne University.

The house looks like an opium dream I might have, every room crammed with books and the daughter begging me to take as many I want to. I am open mouthed and shocked that she can’t find homes for this collection.

Why don’t we want books anymore?

Every Topic Under The Sun.

And poetry, they are filling boxes and I am stuck between glee and shameful greed. I try to be sensible. I fail.

Along the way we acquire as well a perfect small library of Marxist writings and commentary, I have fortunately a home in mind for that. A box of Viennese authors is put in my car, ‘seminal works’ my friend advises.

But the truth is my home is small and already full of books. I always joke, but it is no joke that I live in a forest.

So they are here, some shelved, some still in piles, some set aside as gifts, because there are other people who read poetry. I feel a responsibility to this couple who lived a book filled life because that was how you lived.

Today I am looking for one or two volumes to give to a friend who is need of some distraction and happiness.

So these loved books … one thing I love about pre-lived and loved books is the things that are hidden away inside them.

Just now I find tucked behind the beautiful face of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, a change of address slip with a hand written note to the books owner from our very own amazing poet Judith Wright. A beautiful little connect … loved books are everything.