![]() I come across a little volume from FSG, a bilingual edition of Pablo Neruda’s Nobel acceptance speech. ![]() So I am in that zone of really seeing every spine, you know? Making connections and remembering things I wanted to look for, and I’m just taking my time even though I’m running late to crash at a friend’s place that night, four hours drive away. I was on my way home and stopped in this bookstore hoping, I think, that it would be some sort of mind-spa for re-setting myself after all that. I browse and browse, preparing myself for re-entry after two weeks of perfect seclusion, and also completely waterlogged with grief after finding out the night before about the sudden death of my friend, the poet Chris Toll, who recently proofread this book I have coming out. The owners welcome me, even make sure I know the poetry section continues at the back of the store. On the way home from the residency, I stop in a city known for its bookstores. I think that is a funny self-deprecating statement, but after I say it I realize from the way it hangs there that it might be more fraught than it is funny. It’s my first book published by someone other than myself, I say. ![]() It’s a few months before this book is supposed to come out, and I’ve just been at a residency where I tell the other residents, yes, I have this book coming out. Discussed: Chris Toll, Pablo Neruda, bookstores, Emily Dickinson, and her writing style. Megan McShea thinks about her new book and some old ones.
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