There are delicacies

There Are Delicacies

there are delicacies in you
like the hearts of watches
there are wheels that turn
on the tips of rubies
& tiny intricate locks

i need your help
to contrive keys
there is so little time
even for the finest
of watches

Earle Birney (1904 – 1995)


The Mind’s Eye by Chen Chi-kwan (1921 – 2007)

This life, by Andrew Greig

It is a big sky and its changes,

the sea all round and the waters within.

It is the way sea and sky

work off each other constantly,

like people meeting in Alfred Street,

each face coming away with a hint

of the other’s face pressed in it.

It is the way a week-long gale

ends and folk emerge to hear

a single bird cry way high up.

It is the way you lean to me

and the way I lean to you, as if

we are each other’s prevailing;

how we connect along our shores,

the way we are tidal islands

joined for hours then inaccessible,

I’ll go for that, and smile when I

pick sand off myself in the shower.

The way I am an inland loch to you

when a clatter of white whoops and rises…

It is the way Scotland looks to the South

the way we enter friends’ houses

to leave what we came with, or flick

the kettle’s switch and wait.

This is where I want to live,

close to where the heart gives out,

ruined, perfected, an empty arch against the sky

where birds fly through instead of prayers

while in Hoy Sound the ferry’s engines thrum

this life this life this life.

Painting by Jane Glue

No Go, the Bogeyman

How do people select a book? Well, I know it’s intensely private. Books are sharp. Readers look at them from every angle, examining especially carefully the blade.

Books, like any tool, fulfil a purpose if they are good enough. They can remove (with one sweep) a lifetime of tiring and inaccurate responsibilities. And, they can move inwards to the core of beliefs, at best an uncomfortable and confronting experience. For instance, I read Ethan Frome, and realized that I was normal. Only a blade can do this.

Readers come to the shop and pause over books for long periods of time. There is always this pause. Then they decide and carry the book to the counter.

I am respectful no matter what the book is.

I once chose a book called No Go, the Bogeyman (after a pause). I haven’t read it yet. It’s a history of terror by Marina Warner. The kind of terror that comes softly and sits with you at night. I don’t know why I bought it, but I treasure it.

Painting by Sasha Beliaev

This is your world, it’s your creation

I watched an artist on Youtube say to his students, ‘This is your world, it’s your creation.’

It made me think of the shop.

He also said, ‘Remember where your light source is.’

The light source for my shop is the customers. You would think it would be the books, but it’s not.

He said, ‘The light is coming through here, so this is where we will see the growth, where the light strikes. Not over there, but here. Now we have beauty.’

Finally he said, ‘Look around and see what’s there. See what’s really there.’

This is the shop. The light comes from the readers, and the books, read, are lit.

I remember a reader cradling a stack and saying, ‘Oh God, this is killing me’, and looking with desperate blinking eyes at all the John Steinbecks.

Once a child said, ‘I know I’m going to like this book because it has the same number of pages as another book that I really like.’

Artist quotations from Bob Ross, A Walk in the Woods