Thought I'd start off this post with the first line from one of my favourite poems, "Ode" by Arthur O'Shaughnessy.
- We are the music makers,
- And we are the dreamers of dreams,
- Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
- And sitting by desolate streams;—
- World-losers and world-forsakers,
- On whom the pale moon gleams:
- Yet we are the movers and shakers
- Of the world for ever, it seems.
In Modern British Poetry you can find other beautifully melancholic poems: "When I was One and Twenty" by A. E. Housman and "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley and many, many others that I methodically marked, tearing up little pink While You Were Out papers from our telephone table and nudging them in between the pages. It positively bristles with place markers. I believe I found myself in that book somewhere, and marked it.
Come to think of it, that top-to-bottom bookcase at my parents' was the first instance of a library I ever had. Now that I am older I can't believe I didn't really take it seriously and see this giant wall of shelves for what it was - a separate world where I could quietly escape. There were other books on it, like an entire Encyclopedia Britannica, and some Stephen Kings and Heather Grahams (so my mother was into genre fiction, not always a bad thing).
Here are a few of my favourite books from my own (ever growing but still not as massive) library.
My dream is to have my own entire room as a library. So far I do have my Cave, aka thinking space. James Dickey (of Deliverance creation fame), called it his Cave of Making.
This was James Dickey's Cave of Making.
I will post a picture of my own thinking space shortly. One thing I can say it has a big desk that faces a window, where I can watch the sea gulls wheeling around in the sky.
Nothing stirs the imagination like seagulls wheeling.