Cemetery of Forgotten Books

by compound complex 26 Replies latest watchtower child-abuse

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  compound complex

  I wound my way to a place both dark and light
  whose aspect was deeply grave yet of cheerful
  bent.
  
  Within the heightened stalls were untold rows
  of leathery tomes that glowered down upon my
  smallish frame.

  Notwithstanding, though, were rainbow jackets
  that concealed inside their wraps delightful tales
  of yore.

  Could I but wish that these were mine to keep if
  only I should away from this maze whose door's
  been locked.
  
  The key was shunted to that tiny world whence I
  came; looking up, I shudder as I read a title that
  is, alas,

  The Story of My Life ...
  
• 

  eva luna

  "Do you love books?", he asked.

  I replied, "I am a book".

  Beautiful words CoCo . reminding me of the printed palaces of my youth.
• 

  compound complex

  What you wrote, dear eva, is beautiful. Thank you, as ever, for replying ...

  My books are my friends, and those I've yet to meet will become my newest best friends.

  Toujours les Bibliophiles!

  CoCo des Livres
• 

  compound complex

  The city fathers decreed the razing of my beautiful ivy-covered Carnegie Library, that venerable palace of antiquity and enlightened decay. The must and damp are gone, replaced by the sterility of that seeming modern necessity of steel, plate glass, brick.

  Why cannot we hold onto our past as we reach - of necessity, it is true - gently toward the future?
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  nancy drew

  When I was a child i would walk to the Elizabeth Public library which was built in 1912. It was a mysterious place full of rooms that contained narrow rows of books and it felt like a place with secrets. It's probably been at least 45 yrs since I was there but what i remember most is a feeling that one would get from that old ornate building it was an experience that I've never had in any other library.
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  tornapart

  This reminds me of a book I just read called 'The Shadow of the Wind' by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. There is a 'Cemetery of Forgotten Books' in it.

  "Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down it's pages, it's spirit grows and strenghtens."

  "After a while it occured to me that btween the covers of each of those books, lay a boundless universe waiting to be discovered, while beyond those walls, in the outside world, people allowed life to pass by in afternoons of football and radio soaps, conent to do little more than gaze at their navels.
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  flamegrilled

  'The Shadow of the Wind' is an awesome book.

  Nice post CC - beautifully written.
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  compound complex

  Wonderful bibliosnatches you've all shared, Nancy, Flame (thanks for the compliment!) and Torn.

  A remembrance for us all but, sadly, unlikely to be repeated. I feel it has to do with the wonderment and discovery of youth. There are Carnegie Libraries still (been in several), but the atmosphere of mystery once surrounding my child's head and body has evaporated ...

  I've read twice Zafon's spellbinder, Torn, and, I confess, it is the inspiration for this thread. Thank you for sharing.

  CoCo, Unabashed and Ardent Lover of Books and Onetime Restorer of Antique Tomes
• 

  compound complex

  I tried the door, and, much to my surprise, it opened readily. Why the former owners of the store failed to lock up, I haven't a clue. A neighborhood with no crime, perhaps? A hasty departure, under duress?

  Looking about with a bit of wonderment and a large dose of disappointment, I knew that I was far too late, too late to meet those who handled and loved and mailed off to Earth's four corners those treasured books weighing down the stacks. It is not the wind whistling through cracks in the old building that I hear; it is a faint and ancient whisper of voices long departed that ease gently through my ears and downward into my saddened heart.

  The odor of must and dust settled into ancient oak shelves now empty of precious books triggers olfactory reminisces of a youth happily spent in book stores and libraries both public and private. What surely had once been a bustling enterprise was now, however, devoid of all signs of life and energy.

  I can only imagine, through the conjuring up of my own cheerful memories, what contentment the book-loving customers felt upon entering this magical world ...
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  nancy drew