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    Adventures of a rare book dealer (and former small bookshop owner).

Bookstore Poetry

Written on May 2, 2008

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What is more touching
than a used-book store on Saturday night,
dowdy clientele haunting the aisles:
the girl with bad skin, the man with a tic,
some chronic ass at the counter giving his art speech?

That’s poet August Kleinzahler in his poem “San Francisco/New York” nailing a miniature portrait of the biz in just a few lines. The NYT recently profiled him.

[Via Donald Ramsey of ALL BOOKS CONSIDERED via the indispensable Bibiliophile List. Thanks!]

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