poetry

For some reason, this poem was on my mind today. I was just recalling our honeymoon in San Francisco recently. Maybe that's what brought the poem to mind. The last time I was in the City Lights bookstore I picked up a book of poetry by e.e. cummings. I don't think I'd ever bought poetry before then. The purchase was supposed to be the beginning of my poetry phase. Well, that never really took hold, but this poem in particular has always moved me.

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence;
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens,only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

-e.e. cummings

Mysteries

Every once in a while I stroll down the mystery aisles in my local library (my home away from home). Wishful thinking. I haven't found any mystery novels to my liking in quite some time. Contemporary mystery/suspense novels tend to be too graphic or too gross or too fluffy or worse yet, too poorly written.

Recently, I stumbled upon a series of mysteries by British author Peter Lovesey. Pure happenstance. And now I've found a new detective hero: Peter Diamond.

Diamond is a detective superintendent with the local police department in Bath, England. He's a middle-aged, technophobic curmudgeon, and a darn good detective. He has little finesse and loves to make frequent stops at the chips shop.

My favorite stories have included a murder that's too close to home, a murder committed in broad daylight at a crowded beach, and the discovery of a body buried underneath the house where Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein. Not only are the puzzles intriguing in each book, but the supporting characters are memorable and well drawn.

I can't help but be a little sad reading The Secret Hangman, the tenth and latest Peter Diamond mystery. What will I do when I've read the last page? I'm already craving more.