At dusk the librarian anticipates the night
and gets ready to to close the doors;
he walks the halls, making sure
that every visitor and thief have left,
and as shadows travel in his wake
he can hear again
voices from the volumes:
laments from every book unread
an impassioned arguments between an essay
and a science-fiction book,
a misplaced cookbook reciting
recipes for amanita stew to
a gaggle
of giggling pocket-books of crime;
and a lonely book of poetry
reciting sonnets
to make-believe ikebana flower arrangements
on table standing by a wall,
while a rowdy quibble is brewing
between a less important volume
of Encyclopedia Britannica
and the 1987 telephone directory
of Upper East Side
on where one may procure
the best ossobuco in the world.
The librarian have learned
to never, ever
argue with the books,
and listens, learns how even random
words can stitch themselves to sense.
he gently drifts to sleep
only waking when the silence falls
as the daylight slowly tiptoes
through the dust of empty halls.
He sighs and opens up the doors
again, knowing that returning visitors
(and thieves) soon will soil his soul
with pointless queries
that the books keep buried from the world,
Even at the break of dawn
the librarian anticipates return of the dusk.
Rembrandt
We are writing poem in circles, with Peter at dVerse. I thought that the library would be a place of infinite in space-time. I can imagine that the the library only comes to life at night.
March 23, 2021.
Björn Rudbergs writings 
Beautifully haunting. Always enjoy reading about this mysterious librarian!
I was hoping you would write a librarian poem, and I absolutely love this one! The second stanza amused me, but I particularly liked how the librarian has learned not to argue with the books, but to listen.
I’m starting to think of this place as like Dr. Who’s Tardis but the Tardis doesn’t move, and the Aged Librarian never ages. I love reading about what takes place there as it glitters with everyday magic.
Argue? With a Book? Who would? Not the wise Librarian, eh?
Wonderfully circular work, Bjorn.
Oh gosh this is expertly and richly woven 😀 I must have read this poem three times and still can’t get enough. So much to love and relish here especially;
“he can hear again
voices from the volumes:
laments from every book unread
an impassioned arguments between an essay
and a science-fiction book,
a misplaced cookbook reciting
recipes for amanita stew.”
💝💝💝💝
I love reading your librarian series. It always feels quite mysteriously gothic.
Delicious and nutritious Björn – and a terrific circle.
Oh, I like this haunting, wistful verse….love that old librarian
What a wonderful interpretation, I believe this happens. I’m not sure of the role of the thief in this piece. Though, who is stealing from whom? Could the thief be the books? The librarian? Or maybe it is the daylight… intriguing poem Bjorn!
Whimsical piece that highlights the prompt challenge. I love library’s.
Like a night at the museum the books come to life! Such a great concept… and the old librarian listens… Most want to debate and argue. Well done.
Read this more than once or twice simply to absorb the seamless connection between librarian and library, and in contrast, the incongruous but convivial pairings of books and collections. This librarian is becoming more and more a mythic character, his occupation an outworking of his very being.
I love imagining this library…and being a sneak thief who stays in the stacks after hours to dream among the quarrelling reference volumes and emotive books of poetry. I imagine it is very hard to get the children’s section to settle down to sleep at all!
I think I could hear the voices of the volumes on the shelf. So many tales to share. I tend to listen to the voices of romance and fantasy. I could get lost in those shelves for days.
Oh this is brilliant! I just love the idea of the books coming alive and talking to one another, even if it’s just in the librarian’s mind: who’s to say that it isn’t real?
Even at the break of dawn
the librarian anticipates return of the dusk.
It typically brings to the fore the dilemma of books on the shelves having to compete with the new devices of social media. Youngsters never know what they are missing!. Likewise the librarian wishing to get it over with
Hank
This is an epic aged librarian poem, Björn! I love the shift from dusk to dawn and the anticipation of dusk, the circle completed. I’m glad he’s still hearing the ‘voices from the volumes’ (brilliantly foregrounded with alliteration – the books are important!); feel so sorry for the unread books; and love the thought of ‘impassioned arguments between an essay and a science-fiction book’. My favourite images are of:
‘…a lonely book of poetry
reciting sonnets
to make-believe ikebana flower arrangements’
and daylight slowly tiptoeing through the dust of empty halls. Yes, best not to argue with the books.
I smiled at how even the phone book had something profound and necessary to contribute, I think I need to find me some ossobuco. I am glad he is keeping watch, and being watched.
When I was a child I would imagine all my toys coming alive at night. It was magical just like your poem.
I loved these lines “ and a lonely book of poetry
reciting sonnets
to make-believe ikebana flower arrangements
on table standing by a wall,”
How delightful! ☺️
will be back for another read at a later date.
Long ago, when I began working in a public lending library, I found myself thinking how well it would all function if only we didn’t have borrowers! 😀
Wow! This is a wonderful weave indeed. Really love the aged librarian and his books. I especially fell for this stanza:
The librarian have learned
to never, ever
argue with the books,
and listens, learns how even random
words can stitch themselves to sense.
he gently drifts to sleep
only waking when the silence falls
as the daylight slowly tiptoes
through the dust of empty halls.
You really should collect these into a collection, perhaps with photos of old libraries.
A rich experience, love thee “thieves” those who would steal books, or worse, steal meaning.
Love all things librarian.
This poem is awesome. I love the idea of the library, where you’re supposed to be quiet and everything, being the place where the books party and socialize at night after all the people have gone home.