Library

Paulatim lachrymas rerum experentia tersit. Petrarch Father’s books lying on the living-room floor Must be divided into threes: art history, Classical letters and, left from my days here, Unsteady stacks of quasi-educational lore That show yellowing Geographic scientists Perennially lost in rain forest mists. An instant choice will cull some from the rest So they may become mine—a banausic test. Prewar light glimmers in the apartment: A shadowplay that summons an adolescence Of slammed doors and risible nothings Hurled at retreating parental backs —The most telling blows always sotto voce— As I stormed and wept and read in silence. Now, standing again in silence, I stare At a word trove given two sons to share. Some are dated in the first blank page:1 January 1938