This week really got away from me. I meant to blog all week, but we've been cleaning and decluttering and getting ready for a new school year. I bought a new bookcase, moved a bookcase to the basement, and we came up with a bunch of bags of books to haul away.
Not a poetry book among them. I guess I'm hanging on to all of the poetry. (And too many other books, too, apparently, because we still don't have enough shelf space.)
But I forgive and re-forgive myself for my book habits, because ... well, as Dylan Thomas said:
I could never have dreamt that there were such goings-on in the world between the covers of books, such sandstorms and ice blasts of words, such slashing of humbug, and humbug, too, such staggering peace, such enormous laughter, such and so many blinding bright lights breaking across the just-awaking wits and splashing all over the pages in a million bits and pieces all of which were words, words, words, and each of which was alive forever in its own delight and glory and oddity and light.
The Poetry Friday round up is at Mary Lee's A Year of Reading.