In the library una mostra—
an exhibit spread out upon a table,
not etherized, no need for these long-
dead scholars, some of whom stare
down at me from somber portraits,
or even scowl,
as if to ask what are you doing here among us?
Luke Wadding,
Matthew ab Aquasparta,
Fidelis a Fanna—
scholastic magistri
searching nature and illumination,
cause and causality,
being and existence,
I have glimpsed them in these days
of living among them but not
of them, my own scholastic paradox.
I have crept into Plato’s cave
and spied the shadows and
discerned the grand scope
of all that’s hidden in these
brittle tomes, open here on the table,
perhaps even breathing,
through dust and distance,
their undying spirits.
12 thoughts on "In the library una mostra—"
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i know you mean their spirits…..
but i like the thought/idea
of books or shadows breathing..
with the jiggle and shift
of a couple commas- it could happen. 🙂
Dustin, that’s a very good thought in re revision of this. Perhaps the books breathing is more spare and less cliche’d??
i like it as is.. but i’m personally always looking to get rid of punctuation… as a way to open lanes of possibility. no presh obvs.
maybe title: ‘undying spirits’and end on ‘distance’… could encourage a reading loop that way.
I like just ending on “distance”–good suggestion. And I will rethink the title, also.
Great poem .
I too love the books breathing.
love the reference to platos cave.
I was working on the same reference but it won’t make it into the pomo….our days are finite just like the shadows of allegory, dependant on the fire in our chambers.
I think I get the “scholastic paradox,” but this poem seems to downplay your journey as a pilgrim with its echoes of “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
Will consider your comment!
Love:
crept into Plato’s cave
and spied the shadows and
discerned the grand scope
of all that’s hidden in these
brittle tomes
and you land this poem well with:
breathing,
through dust and distance,
their undying spirits.
I love the juxtaposition of the tactile and the musings.
Thanks to all!
Takes me back to the stacks where i pondered Thoreau and Descartes sitting on the cement floor, leaning against the shelves. everything seemed to breath silently.
Love the calls to Prufrock and Plato in this contemplative piece