library smile
walking into a library makes me smile,
especially if it has high ceilings and desks
set very far apart…
I like it to be quiet and sort of echoey,
with the only sounds being the occasional
creaks from people shifting in their seats,
shuffling those big strong wooden chairs
that all good libraries have, and maybe
the sound of a leafed page turning in the distance…
I like my book palaces gigantic,
like sacred cathedrals so when you
convene with the lord, he pays real good attention —
mine is the god of the mind
and though this type of divination sometimes kills me —
this worship of intellect — it certainly is less harmful than
dying for more unhealthy things…
mhm, um, location — I’d say the corner is best, somewhere deep
in the back, hidden away where you can see others
but they probably cannot see you…
and make sure it’s a spot with an outlet,
because, although my electric brain runs on books
and good conversation, my laptop still needs
its own sort of juice, so…yeah…
we can then work together to come up with some beautiful shit
like this for all of us to share and enjoy, swap thoughts
and touch hearts and love one another’s
solemn and hopeful creativity prayers
Garbage Notes:
This piece is a tribute poem to one of my favorite places—the library. I’ve loved many libraries in my life. From the small school libraries of my childhood, to the big sprawling university libraries, to now the various town libraries that I’ve enjoyed in recent years—they all hold a sacred place in my heart.
I wrote this at a time of great change and fluctuation. I recall finding refuge in this magical place that housed all the books. I saw it almost like a church, a space where I could convene with the divine. The sanctity of information, the shelter of quietude, and the harmony of learning.
The library is an oasis for the mind. There are few public places where one can sit quietly. Where solitude and reflectiveness are not only tolerated but accepted. Every place you go out to in public is noisy—has either music or television playing or people talking loudly. The world is full of noise. And I’ve always seen the library as the last place of hope for maintaining stillness and promoting reflection.
Thoughtful minds need their space to send out prayers of creativity and knowledge. Like the gym is the place to work your body—the library is where you go to exercise your noggin. And it’s as important as any institution.
I think one thing that stands out about this poem, looking back on it months later, is the opening part where I describe the sounds of the place. The echoey vibe. The creaks of the desks and the chairs. The wispy flips of the pages. The soft whispers of people studying together.
In hindsight, I sort of wish I had added more about the smells and somatic sensations too. The smell of old books. The crisp, cold A/C in the summer or that burnt-dust smell when they first put the heat on in autumn. It’s all there. And it’s all glorious.
Franco Amati 2023
It would never hurt to extend the piece with the smell of books and the chill of the AC. I love it.
Come to New Orleans and I’ll take you to my neighborhood library with the good, wooden chairs, the churchyards I frequent and the river. The one that rages on, even when there’s a drought.
As one trying to learn more from somatic experiences I love your reflection about the feeling of that place in the corner...deep inside. What is that sensation that emerges when your thoughts merge with sight, sound, smell, touch and even taste...does you coffee taste different when in a library? I know mine tastes completely different when I’m in my studio. Always appreciate anything related to ‘garbage.’