Archive Page 12

Blue

“On an afternoon so mirror-like and bluish/It seems Windexed.” That’s a line from Robert Long’s poem “Littoral Landscape” included in the now out-of-print collection What Happens. The poet is describing a September sun, but even on dry spring days I see it that way. And even though Robert is gone now, he died in October 2006, we still feel his presence in the voice that rings clear from the pages of his collection, Blue, published by Canio’s Editions in 2000, and from the pages of DeKooning’s Bicycle, unfortunately, also out-of-print, although we have copies available at the shop. This lyrical set of essays about the artists and writers of the East End has the sensibility of some of the earlier poems, paeans to the landscape that continues to entice us, inspire us, amaze us.

There are a million ways to describe the color blue: “the milky sky’s headache…” or “An hour of blue/ At once dense and slick.” These from the eponymous poem from Blue. There’s “the driveway’s cool blue gravel” from “Imperfect Sunset;” and the “painted powder blue room”of the muse in “Where The Muse Lives;” or the “green-blue light/Of Union Square Station, 1968” from “Tie City.” The “Chagall blue of the gas stove,” in “Storm” or “the day of achingly blue skies,” in “Fumetti.” No matter how you paint it, blue’s the most beautiful, mysterious, fluid color there is.

Friends of Robert Long have created a memorial scholarship fund in his name. In April we gave out the first awards to three deserving high school seniors who showed promise in writing fiction, poetry and prose. We plan to continue to make these awards and to offer grants to working writers. In this way, we hope to continue to encourage writers, just as Robert received a grant that helped him complete the manuscript of Blue. To make a donation to the fund, please send a check to the East End Arts Council, 133 East Main Street, Riverhead, NY 11901.

Why Smoking is Bad for Books

While you’re enjoying David Sedaris’ new one, When You are Engulfed in Flames, I just hope you’re not smoking. Books and cigs don’t mix, not only because the pages are flimsy and flammable. Having been on a number of estate sales, somber assignments for which we are called to the home of a deceased reader, I have seen firsthand the depressing residue years of smoking leaves behind. It’s a legacy I trust you don’t want associated with your name. Never mind your lungs, it’s the book jackets we’re concerned about. Sure we can smell a smoker’s books from across the room. But imagine what they look like, shellacked with an orange/brown nicotine glaze? They look sick, like a jaundiced butler peering through a gauzy curtain in the library. Creepy. And depending on the voracity of your habit, it will take some trusted conservator hours more scrubbing to get it off once you’re gone. So please, think of the books next time you light up, and don’t. ~MC

David’s Desk

It’s more than just a checkout counter. In fact, we don’t even call it that. It’s the front desk, but it’s not just any desk. It’s David’s desk. It is old. Its big blocky shape measures almost three by five feet. Its veneer is only lately starting to chip. Within each brass knob, a sunflower radiates. Two pull-out shelves allow us extra work space since the desktop is usually stacked with book catalogs, copies of PW magazine, and of course, books we’re featuring. Terms like “point of purchase” might be more familiar to some of our marketing friends, but we know it as the former writing desk of the poet David Ignatow. A generous gift from his daughter Yaedi, we received the desk sometime after the poet’s death and are proud to have it command its rightful spot in the shop. You could say the desk has found a comfortable home here, one that may even be a bit familiar to it, if it could sense such things. This desk had been in the family book-binding business in New York City in the late 1920s and 30s. Having endured the Great Depression, the business continued for decades. Those were the days when books were objects to be folded, collated, stitched and trimmed, then packed for distribution. David had the pleasure of taking on one of Paul Blackburn’s chapbooks, The Nets, which he bound for free. See  Ignatow’s One Among the Many: a Poet’s Memoirs for more of his reflections.

In later years, David Ignatow was one of the many poets to read at the bookshop and his volumes are included in our poetry collection: Ignatow Poems: 1934-1969, for example. Meanwhile, the desk gets a daily workout. Drawers opening and closing. The cash drawer. The supplies drawer. The big file drawer, its dovetailed corners just beginning to show some gaps, still serves as a reminder of a tradition we hope to maintain. Hard work for the sake of books does have its rewards.

Friday morning, May 16, 2008

It’s a grey morning and the lilacs are in full bloom across the street in a neighbor’s yard. Already this morning one eager customer received word that his special order had arrived, and he’s on his way in to pick it up. Last evening the Thomas Merton writing workshop got underway, participants working on their own spiritual memoirs. Artists have dropped in, and I am preparing for an exhibition of my ” Parade, small town celebrations” exhibition of image transfer photographs. The reception is Sunday, May 25 from 4 – 6 p.m. Richard gets his book, and is pleased.  Customers in heated discussion about Bush, agree on the importance of the next election. I look outside and it is gently raining. Another day at the bookshop. — Kathryn


Canio’s Books is located at 290 Main Street, Sag Harbor, NY 11963, 631.725.4926. Call or email us, caniosbooks@verizon.net. While we love you to SEE you, you can also order new titles at our online storefront or some of our second hand inventory HERE. Thanks for visiting!