Thanks Sheila, Bill, Doug, et al,
for reading and suggesting -
needs some fixing.
Max
On Feb 24, 2016, at 7:49, Douglas Barbour <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> A good story, & moves us along with the narrator to that nicely unfinished finish, Max.
>
> I agree with Sheila; maybe not necessary that phrase.
>
> Doug
>> On Feb 24, 2016, at 12:20 AM, Sheila Murphy <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>>
>> This is so pure, Max.
>> I love what this shows. At the close, I might think of not saying directly
>> "senior whisky-poet," but keep it subtle in the style of the rest.
>> Beautiful.
>> On Feb 23, 2016 11:31 PM, "Max Richards" <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>>
>>> Down in Horizon Books
>>> 10th Avenue, Seattle
>>>
>>> With an afternoon to kill
>>> I should find somewhere
>>> to sit and read the book
>>> in my shoulder bag
>>>
>>> but first why not check
>>> the basement shop
>>> where I like to chat
>>> with the old book dealer
>>>
>>> before a good long browse
>>> along his crowded shelves
>>> and temptation mostly
>>> resisted? I need my tiny
>>>
>>> pocket flashlight for his
>>> lower shelves, and skip
>>> entirely his upper ones.
>>> No one about but me
>>>
>>> and him - he squeezes past
>>> popping out for a smoke
>>> (was that a whisky whiff?)
>>> and squeezes back into
>>>
>>> his messy corner, ice-
>>> hockey on his screen
>>> yonder, book info on
>>> his computer. Two coats
>>>
>>> on the backrest of his
>>> old swivel chair, top-heavy.
>>> Temptations pile up -
>>> poets, books about poetry.
>>>
>>> Crash! - along at his end -
>>> a quiet voice saying Help?
>>> - help me up. The old man
>>> is sprawled on the floor
>>>
>>> tangled in his swivel chair,
>>> betrayed by it. To lift him up
>>> would take a stronger man
>>> than me. At least I can
>>>
>>> heave the tangling chair
>>> aside. Can we grip each other’s
>>> arms? - not well. He says:
>>> leave me be a while to rest.
>>>
>>> I retreat to European history,
>>> peeking at him now and then.
>>> Shall we try now? Not yet.
>>> We have the shop to ourselves.
>>>
>>> Settled on just four books, I check
>>> my watch. Better get him up.
>>> His gesture indicates some
>>> stomach muscle weakness.
>>>
>>> He’s shifted to a possible
>>> standing effort, and holding
>>> one elbow, one armpit, I
>>> ease him up and help him sit
>>>
>>> in that pesky swivel chair.
>>> He asks after my dog.
>>> I help him tote up my
>>> purchase, stow books away.
>>>
>>> He says You taught? I
>>> had a young instructor -
>>> she told us she’d just sold
>>> her first story - a hundred dollars! -
>>>
>>> to Playboy. They said We won’t
>>> use your first name, just
>>> U. K. LeGuin. You have
>>> a future. Bookseller said:
>>>
>>> just now a young man put
>>> a poem in my hand - it’s here
>>> somewhere. But all he could
>>> find was a xerox of his wife’s
>>>
>>> handwritten journal - Roma
>>> to Venezia - what they saw,
>>> where they ate, the brusque
>>> waiter, the train fares.
>>>
>>> Long ago. The ice hockey
>>> has morphed into some
>>> animated program.
>>> Here’s a poem. It’s good
>>>
>>> to write something every day.
>>> He has the musical voice
>>> of a senior whisky-poet
>>> and I’m touched, and leave.
>
> Douglas Barbour
> [log in to unmask]
> https://eclecticruckus.wordpress.com/
>
> Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuations 2 (UofAPress).
> Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
>
> Done in by creation itself.
>
> I mean the gods. Not us. Well us too.
> The gods moved into books. Who wrote the books?
> We wrote the books. In whose dream, then are we dreaming?
>
> Robert Kroetsch.
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