Category: Books

Since I did not go to college,
All this universal knowledge
I exhibit is surprising, is it not?
I habitually maae fools
Of the teachers in grade schools,
And my high school math instructor went to pot.

Some rare students I have known
Have confessed in harried tone
They cannot conceive of such engaging brightness;
And professors I have laid
In their own pedantic shade
Cannot comprehend my higher eruditeness.

But, at 40, I’ll confess
What has brought me such success,
And which satisfied my intellectual hunger;
For I owe an awful debt–
One I haven’t paid, as yet–
To a “How To–” book I read when I was younger.

by Ray Romine Saturday, August 25, 1951

This volume is a relic of the past.
It sags a little tiredly from long-kept
And weighty knowledge painfully amassed
And guarded while the generations slept
Not much aware, nor caring. Book shops sold
And then acquired it, back and forth,
The silver words exchanged for dressy gold
Without an intimation of true worth.

There on my shelf this tattered tome commands
Respect although its yellowed pages now
Get not a passing glance. Who understands,
When we ignore the writer’s message, how
Two words, a hackneyed trite expression such
As “First Edition” can be worth so much?

by Ray Romine Tuesday, November 27, 1951

The book returned
When half read through
Is one, I’ve learned,
I can’t renew.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, May 9, 1951

“Why not a book?” they’re asking.
I can’t face it, myself:
To find my brain-child basking
On the twenty-five-cent shelf.
I’ll stay unprinted, yes, before
I decorate a used-book store…

by Ray Romine Sunday, February 25, 1951

0 woe!–I let that book go by,
Sure I’d never need it.
If only I had bought it, I
Wouldn’t have to read it.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, February 20, 1945

I cannot read the books I own, somehow,
That tempt me from their places. Still, I vow
That I will take the time–that is, some day–
To cut a bookish swath my own sweet way…
Some day, that is, if time will just allow.

Today, there’s too much work through which to plow,
And friends to visit, and the constant mow
Of radio’s intruders’ rant and bray–
I cannot read.

Some day, though, all this rush and tear and row
Will end for me, and Fate will shake the bough
I’m on, and I shall go; my books will stay
Unread, and chuckling. And there where I lay
My head shall be some words; which then, as now I CANNOT READ!

by Ray Romine Saturday, January 15, 1944

I know the book reviewers panned it;
And some communities have banned it;
But I’ll accept it, once I’ve scanned it,
If only I can understand it……

by Ray Romine Thursday, February 8, 1951

A plant may be more apropos
At such a time, but, even so,
A flower will fade, despite endeavor;
A book will last, almost, forever!

by Ray Romine Saturday, January 27, 1945

I return that borrowed book today–
I thought perhaps you’d need it.
But you get it back sans resume,
For I haven’t had time to read it.

by Ray Romine Thursday, September 8, 1949