An exerpt from one of my favorite poems by Caroline Knox:
The Crybaby at the library.
It is raining all over inside the library.
Parts of the brick walls are curling up
and plaster is falling on the heads and beards of students.
It is very dangerous for the books.…
A precious incunabulum inside a glass case
is swimming gently as if in a dishpan.
Tiny letters and pieces of gold that were put there in 1426
are lifting off and turning into scum.
[link]
i just want to read some poems about library
I like this one.
[by Bernard Kops, found in an article about Whitechapel Library closing]
How often I went for warmth and a doze
The newspaper room whilst the world outside froze,
And I took out my sardine sandwich feast/
Whitechapel Library, Aldgate East
And the trams and the madman and the chattering crone
The smell of their farts could turn you to stone
But anywhere, anywhere, was better than home.