Beats Me
I received a small gift from a lifelong friend the other day. He'd been to City Lights bookstore in San Francisco and sent me a copy of a new book of poems by Jack Hirshman. I go way back with Hirshman. As an undergrad at UCLA, I used to see Hirshman way up in the stacks of the University Research Library. I worked there doing various things and one of the most enjoyable was shelving books. Unlike working at the check out desk or checking IDs, pushing carts of books to be re-shelved was meditative in its own way. Often I'd find bookmarks and various "souvenirs" left behind in the books. Who knows how long the pressed leaves or ferns were hiding in volumes untouched for years. There were thousands of books in hundreds of languages. There were collections and sets and donated libraries. Each floor was a universe of literature in its own write. Occasionally I had to all but step over Jack Hirshman while finding the proper place for a book. he lived up to