The watch upon my wrist
Would soon forget that I exist.
If it were not reminded
By days when I forget to wind it.

True to it’s title, there is an ongoing observance of history in this collection though one punctuated by the paradoxical and the juvenile. As to the paradoxes I was reminded of Chesterton and Borges. There is some glee in those distant stretches dreamt of in our philosophy. I feel an almost Calvino flourish, reflecting on a few of these poems.

My copy was purchased some time ago, it was withdrawn from the public library and has since idled on our shelves awaiting my attention. Our local library has increased its purging efforts as of late. My concern led me to write the director. She assured me it was all part of a remodeling scheme and that I was being hysterical by comparing it to the Burning of Alexandria. I am not convinced. Recently they have established a kiosk in the front of the building where one can buy these discarded tomes. I bought a copy of Auden’s Collected Poems earlier today, well aware of my hypocrisy.