Caesura and a sigh
The aged librarian is the caesura in a reading when we still are silent, waiting to applaud. We glance sideways, shuffle feet, explore the lint on threadbare cloth. And we […]
Category Archives: the aged librarian
He can only speak in poetry
He always thought that bridges could be built as essays (unabridged). That if he listened — after- wards he’d be allowed to speak his mind. “It’s like crossing ridges — […]
Reading spines
His finger traces spines; blind he reads the gilded letters embossed as braille he’s forming stanzas in his mind. Heart of darkness, beating. Wanting. Craving fleur de mal. But the […]
Plato and dust
On new year’s eve he lets the ancient sunshine in to dust beloved shelves. He sits beside the window drinking tea and watches specks of dust transform from books to […]
The magi left behind
He had heard about a star but had drawn the blinds, cause only candle lights could kiss the pages of his precious books. The aged librarian is deaf to every […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 