Book Keepers - A poem about personal libraries

Book Keepers

 
By Earon S. Davis

7/6/08

My library contains the breadth and depth of human thought,
at least to me, it does.
It contains books I’ve read, partially read, hope to read, and will never read,
but the thoughts are mine, even the books that have wandered off.
And they speak to me, a constant faint whisper on the shelves and in the small piles waiting for a home on the shelves, or in a box.
The whisper grows louder when I peruse their spines, touch their flesh, let their words flow into my temporal awareness.
Holding a book is a powerful feeling, a connection to the author and to countless other readers and book keepers throughout time and space.

 
A cybershelf has power, indeed, but one’s own physical book shelf is a miraculous extension of our own minds.
There are old books, some very old and/or obscure.  And there are the books that followed me home from the book shop like stray dogs or cats, butterflies or apes.
There’s not much that is practical about a personal library,
except perhaps the role it plays in my own life support system,
my own connection with the peoples, cultures and ideas that squirm though my brain periodically,
In the form of words preserved in books,
books that I keep.