An Inventory of Al-Mutanabbi Street

I last mentioned this project  back in August, where has the summer gone!? It is so nearly Christmas. . . . now I sit with two small dogs curled up beneath my desk and listening to a Cold Play concert.

My trusty little wooden press.

These few images show me putting together my ideas for An Inventory of Al-Mutanabbi Street.

Family grief lent a bitter edge to my thoughts for this project which grew out of hurt and death. I thought of all those that lost loved ones and the fragility of life and the strength of a family to endure such loss when it is out of time. The project is both a lament and a commemoration of the singular power of words; words said, words not said, words remembered. . . .

The targeted attack on this 'street of the booksellers', such indiscriminate brute force to maim and kill, is ultimately futile. 

Books and libraries have been destroyed countless times, since 48 BC with the destruction of the Library of Alexandria, through Nazis Germany up to and including al-Mutanabbi Street. But, books will persevere because of the people who make them. 

And, as reliable as the turning of the seasons more poets, writers, artists and philosophers will bring their ideas into the light. 

My root goes deep,

far deeper than any History.

I belong in this place;

belong to this place

So pull me up, and

discard me even

and always a little bit of me

will continue into the light.

And,

although the children

of my children’s children

will not know my name,

still, I remain

like cherry blossom,

falling gently

into a clean blue sky.