“The House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm”

I had a hard time figuring out what I wanted to post tonight – it was a busy, interesting day.  I work in a library and today we took job action in our contract dispute with management.  Instead of going into detail about that, I’m going to share one of my favourite poems – this is the perfect description of getting lost in a book.

The House Was Quiet And The World Was Calm

The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.

Wallace Stevens

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