Our Books, our Selves

What is the fate of discards, especially from the Poetry Shelves? Poets live with the nagging knowledge that their words will disappear. Writers from other disciplines are often too self-flattering to envision a librarian weeding her shelves or the cataloger hitting his delete button. But discard they do!

Enter the informed reader, desperate for a good book--circulation stats be damned! Here's a stanza rescued from the dumpster of oblivion:

from Song of Farewell....

Was mir geliehen wurde
wechselndes Licht an den Wänden,
Verständnis für manche Vergeblichkeit,
ein tifer gespürter Schimmer des Laubes--
dem Unerfahrbaren geb ichs zurück.

What was loaned to me:
changing light on walls,
understanding of many a futility,
a deeper-felt glimmer of leaves--
I give them back to the never-to-be-known.

(Original German text by Heinz Piontek, English translation by Gertrude Schwebell.)

dan's 2-cents: The data patrol made up of well-trained information specialists may not know the value of these words, but I do.