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Category: Bookish Thoughts (Page 1 of 39)

Elegiac

Elegiac – (1) of or composed in dactylic hexameter couplets, the second line (sometimes called a pentameter) having only an accented syllable in the third and sixth feet: the form was used for Greek and Latin elegies and various other lyric poems. (2) of, like, or fit for an elegy. (3) sad; mournful; plaintive

“In Nine Horses, Billy Collins, America’s Poet Laureate for 2001 – 2003, continues his delicate negotiation between the clear and the mysterious, the comic and the elegiac.”

back cover description of Nine Horses by Billy Collins, printed by Random House Inc, 2003

Poetry, by Billy Collins

Call it a field where the animals
who were forgotten by the Ark
come to graze under the evening clouds.

Or a cistern where the rain that fell
before history trickles over a concrete lip.

However you see it,
this is no place to set up
the three-legged easel of realism

or make a reader climb
over the many fences of a plot.

Let the portly novelist
with his noisy typewriter
describe the city where Francine was born,

how Albert read the paper on the train,
how curtains were blowing in the bedroom.

Let the playwright with her torn cardigan
and a dog curled on the rug
move the characters

from the wings to the stage
to face the many-eyed darkness of the house.

Poetry is no place for that.
We have enough to do
complaining about the price of tobacco,

passing the dripping ladle,
and singing songs to a bird in a cage.

We are busy doing nothing -
and all we need for that is an afternoon,
a rowboat under a blue sky,

and maybe a man fishing from a stone bridge,
or, better still, nobody on that bridge at all.

("Poetry", by Billy Collins, printed in Nine Horses, 2002)

Christmas Sparrow, by Billy Collins

The first thing I heard this morning
was a rapid flapping sound, soft, insistent -

wings against glass as it turned out
downstairs when I saw the small bird
rioting in the frame of a high window,
trying to hurl itself through
the enigma of glass into the spacious light.

Then a noise in the throat of the cat
who was hunkered on the rug
told me how the bird had gotten inside,
carried in the cold night
through the flap of a basement door,
and later released from the soft grip of teeth.

On a chair, I trapped its pulsations
in a shirt and got it to the door,
so weightless it seemed
to have vanished into the nest of cloth.

But outside, when I uncapped my hands,
it burst into its element,
dipping over the dormant garden
in a spasm of wingbeats
then disappeared over a row of tall hemlocks.

For the rest of the day,
I could feel its wild thrumming
against my palms as I wondered about
the hours it must have spent
pent in the shadows of that room,
hidden in the spiky branches
of our decorated tree, breathing there
among the metallic angels, ceramic apples, stars of yarn,
its eyes open, like mine as I lie in bed tonight
picturing this rare, lucky sparrow
tucked into a holly bush now,
a light snow tumbling through the windless dark.

("Christmas Sparrow", by Billy Collins, printed in Nine Horses, 2002)

The Dictionary of Lost Words, by Pip Williams

Everything about this book drew me in. The title is intriguing, the cover art is fun. Can you see the suitcase and the bits of paper that make up the words of the title. The Dictionary of Lost Words.

It’s a stand alone novel, though a companion sequel has been added since my copy was published in 2020. The reviews printed on the cover laud the author’s extensive research which is evident on every page.

The story begins with a small child, Esme, who dives into a fire to retrieve a paper with the only word she knows. Lily. The name of her dead mother. Esme’s fingers bear the scars of her childish love for the rest of her life.

Esme’s father is a lexicographer, one of a team of men who worked tirelessly to compile what would become the Oxford English Dictionary. As Esme plays under their desks, the men collect letters, cut outs, pages from books, and anything else people submit with definitions of words and examples of how those words are used. They pin the examples together, alphabetize them, and place them carefully in fascicles – small sections – in the shelves that line the large room where they work. Their workroom is called the Scriptorium.

One day, Esme catches one of the papers dropped from the desks above. It has a word on it – bondmaid. She slips it into her pocket and then into an empty trunk. With that, she has the first entry in her Dictionary of Lost Words.

Soon, Esme grows too tall to play under the desks. She matures, goes to school, and enters puberty. But her love for words never changes, and she begins to carry slips of paper in her pockets so she can “catch” new words from people. She collects words from all over the city of Oxford, but her most prolific contributors are the common people in the marketplace. She quickly realizes words have different meanings for different people, especially women.

Esme gradually becomes involved with a group of suffragettes who seem to question the fundamentals of her upbringing. She is faced with decisions about what is right and good. She makes mistakes. She suffers pain and loss. She continues to collect words, stuffing them into her trunk along with other mementoes of her happiest and saddest moments.

As we read The Dictionary of Lost Words, we grow with Esme. We laugh with her, and we cry with her. With her, we question the norms of society. We recognize the importance of the women whom Esme stopped to hear. In her own way, she gave the women around her a voice they’d never had before by writing down and defining their words.

The author, Pip Williams, started writing The Dictionary of Lost Words with this premise: If everyone involved in defining the words were men, then how well did that first edition of Oxford English Dictionary represent the way women used words? Through research, she found the story of a word that was not printed in the first edition of the dictionary: bondmaid. The entries for that words went missing, and it’s still a mystery where they are a century later. That mystery sparked the story of Esme and her Dictionary of Lost Words. Williams weaves in true historical figures like Sir James Murray, one of the chief editors of the Oxford English Dictionary, his daughters Elsie and Rosfrith, who also worked on the dictionary, and Edith Thompson, a volunteer contributor and proofreader for the dictionary. Though Esme is fictitious, the things she experienced during her life in the book were all too real for many women of the time period, 1880s-1920s.

I highly recommend The Dictionary of Lost Words if you enjoy good historical fiction, however I have two words of caution:

(spoiler alert ahead)

First, there are a few uses of curse words that I do not like to read, however they are not used as curses in the text. Rather, they are listed, defined, and then the story moves on. Also, one of Esme’s contributors is a rough old woman who enjoys embarrassing Esme with crude words. Early in the story, one of the lexicographers said, “Our job, surely, is to chronicle, not judge.” And that is what Esme does – she chronicles the words and doesn’t judge. However, if you do not like books with certain ugly words, you will want to refrain from reading this book.

Second, about halfway through the book, Esme meets a man who takes advantage of her. She is consenting but naive. The chapter is not graphic, however, she ends up pregnant. In fear, she considers terminating the baby. She even goes so far as to visit a woman who could help her do that, but the woman tells her she is too far along. Instead, Esme leaves town to stay with her aunt until the baby is born so she can preserve her reputation. When I got to this chapter, I was very displeased and almost stopped reading the book. I felt it was pushing the boundaries too far for a historical fiction. But I’m glad I continued reading and finished the book. Esme’s pregnancy was dealt with tastefully, and I wept with her when she gave the baby away to a couple who could have no children of their own. I decided that as much as I don’t care to read about pregnancy before marriage and abortion, these have been experiences of women since the beginning of time. If Esme was to represent women and their words to the Dictionary, she must also suffer like them.

Pip Williams’ style is endearing. She uses word pictures like flowers strewn throughout her book. Esme’s wit made me laugh many times. But Williams shines most in the way she uses actions rather than words to describe sorrow. My heart broke, and I cried several times for Esme.

The Epilogue sends the reader forward in time to the 1980s and the introduction of the second edition of the Oxford English Dictionary. Esme’s life is honored. Her words are given their place in history. A retiring woman rises, looks into the eager faces of an audience of new lexicographers and tells them the story of Esme. Her mother. An absolutely beautiful way to end this story.

Have you read The Dictionary of Lost Words? Did you have a favorite part? I hope you will share your thoughts in the comments below.

Bodhidharma, by Billy Collins

This morning the surface of the wooded lake
is uncommonly smooth - absolute glass -
which must be the reason I am thinking
of Bodhidharma, the man who brought Buddhism
to China by crossing the water standing on a single reed.

What an absorbing story, especially
when you compare it to Zeus with his electric quiver
or Apollo who would just as soon
turn you into a willow tree as look at you sideways.

In every depiction, there is no mistaking
Bodhidharma, always up on his reed,
gliding toward the shores of China,

a large, fierce-looking man in a loincloth
delicately balanced on a little strip of bamboo,
a mere brushstroke on a painted scroll,
tiny surfboard bearing the lessons of the Buddha.

I recognized him one night in a Chinese restaurant
after the disappointment
of the fortune cookie, the dry orange, and the tepid tea.

He was hanging on a wall behind the cash register,
and when I quizzed the young cashier,
she looked back at the painting and said
she didn't know who it was but it looked like her boss.

Thinking of her and Bodhidharma
makes me want to do many things,
but mostly take off my shoes and socks
and slide over a surface of water on a fragile reed
heading toward the shore of a new country.

No message would be burning in my satchel,
but I might think of one on the way.
If not, I would announce to the millions
that it is foolish to invest too heavily
in the present moment,

not when we have the benefit of the past
with its great pillowed rooms of memory,
let alone the future,
that city of pyramids and spires,
and ten thousand bridges
suspended by webs of glistening wire.

("Bodhidharma", by Billy Collins, printed in Nine Horses, 2002)

Colorado, by Billy Collins

Is there any part of the devil's body
that has not been used to name
some feature of the American topography,

I wondered when the guide directed
our attention to the rocky tip of a mesa
which was known as the Devil's Elbow.

He was a college student
just trying to do his summer job
and besides, the cumulus clouds

were massing beautifully
above the high rock face,
so I was not about to say anything,

but from my limited encounters
with evil, it looked more
like the hammer in the devil's inner ear.

("Colorado", by Billy Collins, printed in Nine Horses 2002)

Elk River Falls, by Billy Collins

is where the Elk River falls
from a rocky and considerable height,
turning pale with trepidation at the lip
(it seemed from where I stood below)
before it is unbuckled from itself
and plummets, shredded, through the air
into the shadows of a frigid pool,
so calm around the edges, a place
for water to recover from the shock
of falling apart and coming back together
before it picks up its song again,
goes sliding around the massive rocks
and past some islands overgrown with weeds
then flattens out and slips around a bend
and continues on its winding course,
according to this camper's guide,
then joins the Clearwater at its northern fork,
which must in time find the sea
where this and every other stream
mistakes the monster for itself
sings its name one final time
then feels the sudden sting of salt.

("Elk River Falls", Billy Collins, printed in Nine Horses 2002)

One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp

I have started One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp several times over the last few year (three to be exact), but inevitably, something would get in the way of me finishing it. I am a fiction reader; I love action and adventure, mystery and intrigue. So it takes dedication for me to want to finish a non fiction (even inspirational) book.

Well, now that I have have read (and finished) One Thousand Gifts, I must say I’m sorry I didn’t stick with it before.

The subtitle of the book pretty much sums it up: A dare to live fully right where you are.

Ann shares with readers how a seemingly simple challenge changed her life. But she doesn’t begin with the premise of the challenge. She begins with the heartbreaking tale of an accident that tore her family apart and plunged her deep into despair. Though she tried to fix it, then to hide it, she lived many years under a cloud of sorrow, anger, and bitterness.

Until her friend emailed her this challenge: create a list of one thousand blessings from God.

One thousand things to be thankful for.

One thousand gifts offered freely by the Father of Love.

As Ann shares glimpses of her list, she describes how she began to change. The active seeking of blessings in ordinary things changed the ordinary into extraordinary. The drivel of laundry becomes thankfulness for the husband and children who are healthy enough to dirty clothes. The always filling dish sink become thankfulness that there is plenty of food to go around. And these lay the foundation for her to say Thank You for the surgery because it will save the child’s finger. Forming the habit of thankfulness helps her get through hard things with the peace of knowing all things come from God even when we don’t know why.

As Ann searches for God’s gifts, she begins to see thankfulness throughout the Bible. She describes the greatest example of thankfulness: Jesus Himself. Every time Jesus sat down to a meal, the Creator of the universe gave thanks. Even as He sat at His last meal, with Judas his betrayer, Jesus gave thanks.

I was surprised that Ann’s full list was not given in the book until I got to the middle and she said she had long passed one thousand. But even after she quit numbering her list, she continued searching for moments in which to give thanks. She kept an open notebook with her at all times. She shared how her walk with God deepened when she began the journey of thankfulness. She found when giving thanks for every small moment the presence of God seemed to grow around her. Ann’s challenge to readers is not just to begin to live a life of thankfulness. It is a challenge to let God show Himself real in their lives.

I thoroughly enjoyed One Thousand Gifts. Ann Voskamp has a beautiful way of saying things, of describing things, that just pull you in. One of my favorite examples is that she calls her children love-children, and she calls her husband the Farmer. She is simplistic and real. She is like a cup of tea on a cool morning, refreshing and sweet. And while I bemoan the fact that I hadn’t finished it before, I know I needed to read One Thousand Gifts this year. I started reading it the day of my husband’s brain surgery. I took Ann’s challenge and kept a journal close to me every day in the hospital, the rehab, and the months of healing at home. I jotted things down like successful surgery, 2nd surgery moved from afternoon to morning, burned bacon and the hand that grasped min and eyes that softened and the words”I will love you eve if you always burn the bacon”, and quiet mornings for more than physical healing.

And I have seen my walk with God grow and strengthen as I’ve told Him “Thank you” over the last few months.

I’m going to challenge you now: read One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. Start your own list, and see where thankfulness will take you.

Dictum

Dictum – an authoritative assertion; a saying; in law, a statement of opinion expressed by the judge on some point not vital to the principal issue of the case

“Everyone who contributes to the Dictionary will leave a trace of themselves, no matter how uniform Father, or Mr Dankworth, would like it to be. Try to take Mr Dankworth’s comments as suggestion, not dictum.”

Elsie to Esme, The Dictionary of Lost Words, Pip Williams
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