October 8: Well-Made Books, Saint Svetlana, Eric Torgersen, "The Ones Reading Books," Adventures of Stickman

And he loved those books because not only did they emanate the spirit of a different time, when, it seemed to Ives, people were better, but because they reminded him of his father.  They seemed to have been a great source of pride to the older Mr. Ives.  He had been fond of collecting well-made books, and kept a modest library of them in a hallway bookshelf, books that seemed to bring him as much pleasure and solace from the world as did books on religion and the Bible.

Yes, Edward Ives loves books.  He's not much of a reader.  Art is his thing.  However, he takes pride in his wife's collection of literature.  Dickens.  Lawrence.  Cervantes.  Shakespeare.  Annie Ives can't resist buying cheap and expensive editions of the classics.  She recognizes greatness.

Speaking of recognizing greatness, the Swedes made the big announcement this morning.  Unfortunately, I forgot to watch the livestream from the Swedish Academy.  I remembered about 10 a.m., when I was teaching a classroom full of students about One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.  When I got back to an available computer, I went straight to the Nobel site and read this:

The Nobel Prize in Literature 2015 was awarded to Svetlana Alexievich "for her polyphonic writings, a monument to suffering and courage in our time".

That's right.  Once again, I have been overlooked by the Swedes.  Instead it went to a Belarussian journalist who wrote most famously about Chernobyl survivors.  So, if you're keeping count, that's Russia 1, United States 0.  Next year, I'm going to start a write-in campaign very early.  I think the Swedish Academy is ready for a blogging poet.

Thus, I will not be celebrating my Nobel win this weekend when I am in the Wisconsin Dells with my family.  My daughter has a dance convention.  I was hoping that, after my name was announced in Stockholm, the Kalahari Resort would upgrade my reservation to the Presidential Suite and comp it.  No such luck this year.  Although, maybe I could wear a wig, speak with a Russian accent, and pretend my name is Svetlana. 

Tomorrow night, Saint Svetlana will be posting from Baraboo, Wisconsin.  Do svidaniya, comrades.

The Ones Reading Books

by:  Eric Torgersen

Now in his fifty-ninth year,
he has seen two of them:
the ones reading books
and driving, also, their cars
down the great expressways,
through the traffic.

The first, years ago,
half forgotten,
a young man, intent,
the book lying open
on the steering wheel
unmistakably the Bible,
a map of sort, he supposes,
to guide the big van
down US 23,
although as he passed
it swerved
and nearly hit him.

The second
just weeks ago:
the car large, well-used,
American,
the book a fat paperback,
some thriller, some horror,
some mystery,
the cover bent back
and clenched
in the driver's right hand,
he too large, American,
well-used
and in no hurry,
left hand steadying
the wheel,
course for the moment
clear.

My friend has grown almost
accustomed
to the ones using telephones;
books he has read
in his own unlikely places;
there are too many things
he has done
and driven the car;
but the ones reading books
and driving, also,
down the great expressways
through the traffic
continue
to astonish him.

Adventures of STICKMAN