Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
David Wagoner
Busan Korea’s Bosu Book Street is a narrow, 200-meter-long alley lined on both sides with small indie bookstores. The bookshop enclave in Bosu-dong was created when a refugee family from North Korea started selling secondhand books and periodicals there when Busan became the country’s provisional capital during the 1950-53 Korean War.
Over time more than 70 bookshops were opened in the neighborhood surrounding Bosu Book Street. But in the last decade the number of independent bookstores on Bosu Book Street has fallen by more than half due to the expansion of chain bookstores and e-books. Now just 30 bookstores remain on the road.
There have been efforts to preserve the street’s historical value and distinct identity. In 2019, Busan Metropolitan City designated the bookstore alley as Busan’s Future Heritage for playing a symbolic role as a major cultural space for book lovers over seven decades.
Last month a book-themed cafe called Scoula di Atene (The School of Athens) with a facade shaped like a row of large books on a shelf opened in Bosu-dong in an attempt to revive the street. The owner Kim Dae-kwon said he initially planned to build a 15-story multi-purpose building with residential and commercial units. However, after realizing the historical significance of Bosu Book Street, he changed his mind and remodeled the building into a cultural complex.
“I was later convinced that Bosu Book Street needed to continue its legacy because it’s more than a place where you can buy books. It’s a place of living history. It has survived a turbulent history, touched lives and benefited communities around Bosu-dong. I used to come here to buy school and university textbooks.”
Kim designed the first floor to accommodate three independent bookstores ― Woori Geulbang, Gukje Bookstore and Chungnam Bookstore. From the second to the fourth floor is a cafe.
In my youth the heart of dawn was in my heart, and the songs of April were in my ears.
But my soul was sad unto death, and I knew not why. Even unto this day I know not why I was sad.
But now, though I am with eventide, my heart is still veiling dawn,
And though I am with autumn, my ears still echo the songs of spring.
But my sadness has turned into awe, and I stand in the presence of life and life’s daily miracles.
The difference between my youth which was my spring, and these forty years, and they are my autumn, is the very difference that exists between flower and fruit.
A flower is forever swayed with the wind and knows not why and wherefore.
But the fruit overladen with the honey of summer, knows that it is one of life’s home-comings, as a poet when his song is sung knows sweet content,
Though life has been bitter upon his lips.
In my youth I longed for the unknown, and for the unknown I am still longing.
But in the days of my youth longing embraced necessity that knows naught of patience.
Today I long not less, but my longing is friendly with patience, and even waiting.
And I know that all this desire that moves within me is one of those laws that turns universes around one another in quiet ecstasy, in swift passion which your eyes deem stillness, and your mind a mystery.
And in my youth I loved beauty and abhorred ugliness, for beauty was to me a world separated from all other worlds.
But now that the gracious years have lifted the veil of picking-and-choosing from over my eyes, I know that all I have deemed ugly in what I see and hear, is but a blinder upon my eyes, and wool in my ears;
And that our senses, like our neighbors, hate what they do not understand.
And in my youth I loved the fragrance of flowers and their color.
Now I know that their thorns are their innocent protection, and if it were not for that innocence they would disappear forevermore.
And in my youth, of all seasons I hated winter, for I said in my aloneness, “Winter is a thief who robs the earth of her sun-woven garment, and suffers her to stand naked in the wind.”
But now I know that in winter there is re-birth and renewal, and that the wind tears the old raiment to cloak her with a new raiment woven by the spring.
And in my youth I would gaze upon the sun of the day and the stars of the night, saying in my secret, “How small am I, and how small a circle my dream makes.”
But today when I stand before the sun or the stars I cry, “The sun is close to me, and the stars are upon me;” for all the distances of my youth have turned into the nearness of age;
And the great aloneness which knows not what is far and what is near, nor what is small nor great, has turned into a vision that weighs not nor does it measure.
In my youth I was but the slave of the high tide and the ebb tide of the sea, and the prisoner of half moons and full moons.
Today I stand at this shore and I rise not nor do I go down.
Even my roots once every twenty-eight days would seek the heart of the earth.
And on the twenty-ninth day they would rise toward the throne of the sky.
And on that very day the rivers in my veins would stop for a moment, and then would run again to the sea.
Yes, in my youth I was a thing, sad and yielding, and all the seasons played with me and laughed in their hearts.
And life took a fancy to me and kissed my young lips, and slapped my cheeks.
Today I play with the seasons. And I steal a kiss from life’s lips ere she kisses my lips.
And I even hold her hands playfully that she may not strike my cheek.
In my youth I was sad indeed, and all things seemed dark and distant.
Today, all is radiant and near, and for this I would live my youth and the pain of my youth, again and yet again.
“Buried in Colorado All Alone”
by
Joy Williams
from 99 Stories of God
The girl from the pharmacy who delivered Darvon to Philip K. Dick, the science fiction writer, wore a golden fish necklace.
“What does that mean?” asked Dick.
She touched it and said, “This is a sign worn by the early Christians so that they would recognize one another.”
“In that instant,” Dick writes, “I suddenly experienced anamnesis, a Greek word meaning, literally, loss of forgetfulness.”
Anamnesis is brought on by the action of the Holy Spirit. The person remembers his true identity throughout all his lives. The person recognizes the world for what it is—his own prior thought formations—and this generates the flash. He now knows where he is.
BURIED IN COLORADO ALL ALONE
I recently stumbled upon this English translation of the 1992 French bestseller, Comme Un Roman, with illustrations by Quentin Blake. It’s a book about reading and the power of books by a celebrated author and former teacher, and much of it is about how parents and teachers screw up children’s natural enthusiasm for books and reading. As a former teacher myself, I understand the constant struggle between what we think should be read and what readers want to read.
If you stop by here on a regular basis, you are probably aware that I am a fan of Japanese woodblock printing. Most folks are familiar with “Under the Wave off Kanagawa” by ukiyo-e artist Hokusai, created in late 1831 during the Edo period of Japanese history. The print depicts three boats moving through a storm-tossed sea, with a large wave forming a spiral in the centre and Mount Fuji visible in the background. “The Great Wave off Kanagawa” has been described as “possibly the most reproduced image in the history of all art”, as well as being a contender for the “most famous artwork in Japanese history”. But there is much more to Japanese woodblock printing.
I recently learned about the Ukiyo-e Search archive which was created by John Resig who built the online database back in 2012. The archive now includes more than 223,000 individual artworks from the early 18th century to today. Encompassing an array of styles, subject matter, and aesthetic impulses, the database is organized by artist and time period, and the system facilitates easy comparison of copies held at museums and institutions around the world. It’s well worth a visit.
“The first duty of the novelist is to entertain. It is a moral duty. People who read your books are sick, sad, traveling, in the hospital waiting room while someone is dying. Books are written by the alone for the alone.” Donna Tartt
“And remember this: the page you are looking at now, I once typed the words with care with you in mind under a yellow light with the radio on.” Charles Bukowski
“When I’m writing, I am trying to find out who I am, who we are, what we’re capable of, how we feel, how we lose and stand up, and go on from darkness into darkness. I’m trying for that. But I’m also trying for the language. I’m trying to see how it can really sound. I really love language. I love it for what it does for us, how it allows us to explain the pain and the glory, the nuances and the delicacies of our existence.” Maya Angelou
“So many books, so little time.”
―
Travel Between The Pages 