My Old Friend

A book is like a garden carried in the pocket.

Chinese proverb
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Hello Frosty
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For me, one of the most poignant moments in all of grand opera is in the last act of Puccini's "La Boheme." Four men live together in a cold attic apartment in Paris. One of them, Colline, decides to go out and sell his overcoat to buy medicine for his roommate's very ill girl friend in the hope of keeping her alive. He sings a short but sad farewell to his coat, the friend who has kept him warm and whose pockets always carried the poetry and philosophy that he loves. "Addio. Addio."

It brings a lump to my throat every time I hear it.

A few times in my life, for various reasons I have had to abandon my library. I love books and I hope that wherever mine have ended up they are loved as much I loveed them. But there is one book I have never parted with. It sits at my elbow when I am at my desk. If I go anywhere for more than a day it goes with me in my back pack or suitcase. It is one of my dearest friends.

I bought it brand new from a bookstore in Harvard Square, Cambridge, Massachusetts in 1957. It's almost as old as I am. I paid $6.50 for it. You can barely read the price, written in pencil on the inside. I wrote my name underneath the price in red ink which is still quite visible.

It's a small volume, very small considering what it contains. It's 7 1/2 inches by 5 1/2 inches and 1 inch thick. In all the bookstores I've been in over the years, I've never seen another copy of it. It was printed by Oxford University Press in 1947.It is in very threadbare condition due to age and use. I've taped the inside of the hard cover to the pages, but the tape on the outside spine is coming loose again. The pages are very thin India paper and fortunately I haven't torn any of them.

What is it? It's my complete Shakespeare. And it is complete; all the plays and all the poems, including all the sonnets, in one small volume. Shakespeare is a divine gift to the human race, and no matter what English professors and stage directors do to it, it remains a rare treasure, recognized the world over.

This book has been a continuous inspiration to me for 55 years. I need a magnifying glass to read it now, but, so what? Falstaff, Lear and Juliet still come alive whenever the book is opened. I would never part with it. If, heaven forbid, I had to move suddenly this book would be one of the first things I would grab.

I love it. It's my old friend. It's the garden in my pocket.

Dana Bate - The Vagabond
Never Give Up
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Windmills

To read a book for the first time is to make the acquaintance of a new friend, to read it a second time is to meet an old one.

Selwyn Champion
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Hello Ally
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In Giacomo Puccini's opera "La Boheme" there is a short but poignant aria in the last act. Colline is going off to sell his overcoat to buy some medicine for his roommate's girl friend, Mimi. He sings a farewell to his coat which has been his friend for years, with philosophers and poets living in its pockets. That sad aria has always had a special place in my heart.

Thank heaven I never had to sell my overcoat but when I lived in New York City I never went out without a book in my pocket. Most of the time in was "Don Quixote" by Cervantes. Even though I had read the book through, it was a pleasure to dip into it again at odd moments, waiting for a subway, or sitting at a table having lunch.

Sometimes it was a different book, but it was always and old friend. People who knew me knew there was always a book in my pocket and would sometimes ask what it was. "What's in the pocket, D.?"

An important book must be read more than once, even more than twice sometimes. Each time, like an old friend, it reveals more of its secrets, its mysteries and its love.

Now I'm retired, live alone and rarely go out. But when I do there's Aristotle's "De Anima" in my pocket. Otherwise I'm surrounded by books. I've never counted them but there must be over a hundred. They've all been read or partially read. I am surrounded by friends, new and old.

I still have that "Don Quixote." It's just over there, under "The Dead Sea Scrolls."

Dana Bate - The Vagabond
(Never Give Up)
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Here you go.

This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.

The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.

Not to take away from the postings on your journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.

I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.

Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject you want or is associate with this holiday season.

There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.

Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.

All are welcome. Admission is free.

DB
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Precise Purpose 2/23/09

Wear the old coat and buy the new book.

Austin Phelps
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Welcome back.
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In Puccini's opera La Boheme, Colline decides to sell his overcoat to buy medicine in a futile attempt to help prolong the life of his roommate's girl friend. Even though it's an old coat it's deep pockets have held for him the best of poetry and philosophy. He loves that coat. Before he goes off with it, he sings a farewell to it "Addio, addio." It's a very poignant moment.

I used to sing that aria. (No, I used to pretend to sing it.)

One of the minor fears I've always had during my life, is that I would find myself stuck somewhere without something interesting to read. When I worked as a broadcaster in New York my reading schedule was brief and irregular at best. Being a radio announcer is busy and often difficult work and don't let anybody tell you differently. I always had a copy of the New York Times with me. Tucked in amongst the chit chat about the latest crime or political scandal, the war stories, the fashion and entertainment news, the weather information, the stock market quotes and the ball scores, there were stories written by people who had ideas to express. They may be new ideas, old ideas in a new articulation or forgotten ideas recovered and brought to print.

Margaret Thatcher once said that whereas England was formed from history, America was formed by philosophy.

Wherever I went I always had a book in my pocket. My friends knew that. I remember one evening sitting in DJ Moran's on 57th Street in Manhattan having a beer. Three guys came in. I knew one of them. He said "Hey D. What's in the pocket?" I said "Cervantes." The other two guys laughed until I took out my copy of Don Quixote and put it on the bar. They were not very impressed. So what? I didn't carry the book to impress people. I had it to read.

The world is made of ideas. Primarily and ceaselessly of ideas. There is no question about that. So whether you buy the overcoat or not, buy the book. And read it.

DB The Vagabond
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Time to put another stone down on that path you're building to your dream.