The Story Of My Library Poem by AtreyaSarma Uppaluri

(1)

If anyone looks at my library
And at the varied titles of books
From fiction to philosophy
Politics to pulp
Poetry to prosody
Romance to religion
Sociology to science
Logic to law
Magic to music
History to hagiology
Adorning my steel and glass shelves
They take me to be a versatile scholar
Whereas I am no more than
An idiot savant, if not even less.

If a few bucks are there in my pocket
They itch my feet
Until they work their way
To the nearest book mart.

I should spend at least half my money
To be the proud owner
Of many a good looking book.

I open the book; rest it on its cover;
And smooth the title page.
With my caring palms
And all my complacence,
I write down there
With my black inked Uniball pen
My name, my address
And the place and date
Of purchase…
And wait
Until the ink dries up
Beyond any trace of smudge.

(2)

I love to gaze on my new book
For the beauty of the binding
And the design of the jacket.

I have a nose for books
I only smell their aroma
Rarely thumb through or read them
Lest the spick and span pages
Should be unknowingly soiled.

A crusader for the honour of the books
I never go beyond reading the coquettish blurbs.

Books feast my ears
I love their rustle
As I leaf through them
But their inner voice
Hardly reaches my faculties.

I relish the touch of my books
So I place one on my chest
As I lie down supine
And slip into sweet slumber
As it heaves up and down
To the beat of my heart
But I don’t hug it much
Fearing it would be dishevelled.

I have a taste for books
Always moderate and modest
And never ravenous
For fear of indigestion.

(3)

Why this odd taste for collecting books?
Isn’t it a waste of money and space? -
So I reflect at times.

Won’t the books lament their disuse?
Wouldn’t they be better back
In the dynamic racks of the book stores?

Obviously, you aren’t cut out to be a scholar
At best, you’d be a good librarian
Had you invested on an object of art
Or on a plot of land
The value would have been a million now.

Don’t belittle me or my books
I’ve amassed them with a mission, with a vision
To keep myself busy with
Once I retire from my work
Where presently
I plunge into and pore over
On only books of accounts and stocks
And not on brainy, aesthetic, or entertaining tomes.

(4)

The day I happily looked forward to
Has arrived finally – my superannuation!
Indulging my built-up wish for rest,
I lazed off for full three months.

Then in right earnestness,
I took another month
To dust and rearrange
Restock and catalogue
All my assortment of books.

After essential invocation
Of the Lord of obstacles
And the Goddess of learning
I piously sat at my reading table
In an upright determined posture
In my cushioned swivel chair.
Oh, I opened, I did open my book
And proceeded to read it in glee…

Oh, what a chiaroscuro!
What a collage before me!
What a kaleidoscope!
Of a profusion of smog
Mist and clouds.

I collapsed into a swoon…
For how long I don’t know.
A battery of doctors
Surrounding me
Woke me up.

“You’ve reached advanced glaucoma
No book thou shalt read! ”
The verdict was pronounced.

“Worry not at all, ”
My family tried to comfort me
“You can still lie down
Among your books;
We have a way out”
So they took me out
Back to home.

“You wanted to learn
As well as earn.
Now you can do it.”

“Learn the art
Of commercial book-keeping
And earn quite a few coppers every day.
Turn your books into a lending library
And be your own boss.”

(5)

They inject donor’s blood into your stream
They transplant a kidney or graft an eye
They implant a tooth so natural and bright.

They scan a page or photo
And open a live file
In the computer system.

Why can’t anyone think
Of scanning the contents
Of my books
Into my bibliomaniac mind?

[Aug 26,2009: : Greenfield, Wisconsin]