Praising The Book People (Final Version) Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

I wrote this poem in part to compensate for the cynical
comment of Francois Truffaut who seemed to have
no conception of the film Fahrenheit 451 he made
from Ray Bradbury's fantastic book: 'Those damn Book People' he said at one juncture during the film's production.

I also wrote this poem during an extended period of time I was forced to sell piecemeal book by book my entire personal library in order to survive.

['the faint whisper of a turned page'
-Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451
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would you sell your heart's desire
would you chop it up for
firewood in the bitter cold
or throw it over the bridge,
sparking futile distances,
to spare yourself?

being bought or sold.
how would you choose,
sensing the end was near,
from all these things so dear:
what to pawn
what to carry on your back,
kind refugees of this beleaguered Word?

there is a library of the mind
where books like jewels shine
where we could surpass
the farthest runners to the edge of Light
leaning over the rim of its deep well
whenever a second universe appears.

not to betray this universe,
to shield it from inquisitional fire
or the permafrost of
brutal disregard
we choose this role, even to be lost,

tearing out the blank pages of ourselves
inscribing them with ink that
can't be traced
in love with cherry-scaped language

we'll memorize it all
warned in dreams to depart
another way,
on bookish doomsday

bartering life for art
reading reading reading to
con the part that we must play to
fuse the broken continents within
beauty and truth, once again,
our touchstone

through harsh midnights of sheer
inarticulation
saving the book fed imaginations
we stand guard

refusing to stone the messengers
sheltering angels, unaware
weaving bright meaning
into our banished souls
stowing it all away
for we have become the messengers
ourselves
as on the first day

mary angela douglas 13 october 2008; 29 september 2023