On that note, I hope you don’t mind if I widen the scope of my blog a bit to cover some other areas of interest to me. Today, I wanted to share with you one of my favorite past times – reading. I adore reading and as a result have soo many books. I must confess that even though I have a Kindle, if I like a book I will still purchase it in paper format. To me, nothing can replace that reading experience, even though I know it is very wasteful. Every year I donate to The Nature Conservancy in an effort to stave off the tree police….who I’m pretty sure, if they exist, look like the Ents from Lord of the Rings..
Above are all my books from one of my favorite writers, Margaret Atwood. If there is any one author that I could recommend to you all, it’s Margaret. She didn’t write my favorite book in the world. But she’s probably written more than a few in my Top 20 list. And I think she hits that critical spot between writing good literature and literature that’s good to read. I won’t yammer on further but here’s a link to her most popular book if you’re interested – The Handmaid’s Tale.
Atwood is also one of my favorite poetry writers. I’ll leave you all with one of my favorite poems of hers, Variations on the Word Love. Quite honestly, I don’t really “get” most poetry. But I adored this. I hope you enjoy and would love to hear about your favorite books and authors!
Variations on the Word Love
by Margaret Atwood
This is a word we use to plug
holes with. It’s the right size for those warm
blanks in speech, for those red heart-
shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
like real hearts. Add lace
and you can sell
it. We insert it also in the one empty
space on the printed form
that comes with no instructions. There are whole
magazines with not much in them
but the word love, you can
rub it all over your body and you
can cook with it too. How do we know
it isn’t what goes on at the cool
debaucheries of slugs under damp
pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-
seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
among the lettuces, they shout it.
Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising
their glittering knives in salute.
Then there’s the two
of us. This word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse
to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars
that press on us with their deafness.
It’s not love we don’t wish
to fall into, but that fear.
this word is not enough but it will
have to do. It’s a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside. You can
hold on or let go.