In absence of mirrors imposed
by conventions of beauty
or personal grace
the aged librarian still
can see himself as a shadow
an apparition or ghost
slowly shifting
in his private list
of books
(both toxic and benign)
or as verses
mined from the masses
of meaningless words
in boring accounts from the past.
His library exile
has never been
his virtue
but a choice
both selfish and shameless
an oblation of wealth and of youth
or the trauma sifted from texts,
as hardship in self.
The library was never a prison
not his asylum, but
a picket-fenced garden
filled with bracken and bramble
a hidden hermit’s abode
or a cave in the jungle
where snippets of stifled voices
can tell him the stories
of virulent clamor
clawing communities
shut off from his stubborn
aloofness in words.
Vincent van Gogh
Today we are having Open Link Night at dVerse hosted by me. We open at 9 PM CET and for the first hour we will be live so you may join and share your poem almost IRL.
September 16, 2021
Björn Rudbergs writings 
Bjorn,
Fascinated by the librarian, whose inner life unveiled slowly is one of exile from all but the “stifled voices” who tell of an asylum without.
pax,
dora
Interesting view into the inner workings of the librarian. A world within so much more than the one without.
Ah Yes indeed Bjorn, quite a powerful vision you’ve conjured here. May surprise you to know that my profession was as a librarian for over thirty years, back in the days when I still had a proper job… And, blow me, its true – I often still feel both selfish and shameless to this day… Hey! Ho! Very rich writing and strong visualisations, as ever my friend.
Shh! Leave me alone. I’m reading!
I can almost hear the muffled voices although the library feels more imposing than a garden to me. Haunted maybe?
Such a lovely asylum–“verses mined from the masses of meaningless words”. Libraries always make me a tad uneasy. Give me an old book store with three cats please.
I always love these Librarian poems. I particularly love the last stanza, it seems so true.
This is exquisitely woven, Bjorn! 😀 I especially admire the use of alliteration in “stories of virulent clamor clawing communities.” 💝💝
Bjorn this one is so richly complex it will take several readings to sort it out. My first impression is that the librarian feels guilt but also a lot of other mixed feelings regarding his time in the asylum of the library. Asylum is a perfect word because it has different connotations that you’ve done a good job of exploring in your poem.
To the aged librarian, the library is what he makes it, and that is of what he reads.
p.s. I just noticed that the drawing is by Van Gogh, which I think is a purposeful choice in that he was in an asylum voluntarily yet at the same time did some of his best work while he was there. Excellent choice to lend support to your words.
I stumbled over the word oblation – “an oblation of wealth and of youth.”
Can’t quite grok how it is an offering to God, or another deity.
Librarianophile, moi. Merci!
I enjoyed the idea of the library as our internal world in this, do we exile ourselves willingly? Yes! I think we do when we realize we can make it a paradise! 😍
I am sure there are many who would envy his garden. What a trove!
Another wonderful piece about the librarian I am sure one could get lost in the blooms of his garden. One volume at a time.
The library has its own labyrinthine depths, as you have illustrated so well here. I love the mention ‘of books/(both toxic and benign)’ and the examination of the liminal space between the external library and the library of the mind.
Thanks for hosting another great OLN!
loved this. i wam going ot need t re read to fully appriecate
Sweet asylum I’d say – library as garden and barque. Not that the world even sees us.
clawing communities
shut off from his stubborn
aloofness in words
It very much appears to be an individual who makes himself to be above all others happy being just by himself.
Hank
Fascinating and exquisitely drawn picture – a perfect place for self-imposed solitariness.
Every time you return to this metaphor, Bjorn, you flesh it out a little more. This particular instance is haunting and sharp. I especially like “..The library was never a prison/not his asylum, but/a picket-fenced garden..” that is, a place where the soul can find peace.
Good to hear from the librarian again! These lines are a wonderful description of his world
“ The library was never a prison
not his asylum, but
a picket-fenced garden
filled with bracken and bramble
a hidden hermit’s abode”
Always enjoy your librarian poems Björn. This one is intriguing. Mirrors. Voices. Shadows. Isolation and garden produce quite a stew of bracken and bramble and the Van Gogh is an excellent image to team up with this one.
Might i mention now that i am a retired Library Assistant. Now published writer. ☺☺☺
Much💖love
Reminded me of my school librarian. Even rustling pages were given the stern eye.
The way you have framed the writeup totally haunts me. Reminded me of the conjuring cinema first part. Reading scary stuff is kind of my passion as well, want more from you. Am waiting!