Culture + Community
May Bibliotherapy with Sivan Bogan
“The Red Car” by Marcy Dermansky
Oh this weird and magical little book. I read it in one sitting and wanted to carry this story around with me for a long time. We follow Leah, a young writer in an unfulfilling marriage to a possessive husband. When Leah’s former boss, Judy, dies, she leaves Leah the red sports car that killed her. Leah takes off in the car, and follows her heart from New York to the West Coast. Through her journey, we meet a cast of characters that shape, challenge, and soften her. The character of Leah is a curious one – stubborn, lost, hesitant – while at the same being a little reckless and bold. Following Leah’s thought process about every choice she makes and why she makes it is riveting for the reader. A great beach read, a great “can’t sleep” read, a great read for anything and everything.
“While I was not entirely satisfied with the circumstances of my existence, I felt like the possibility of improvement still existed. That I could make happiness happen.”
“Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver”
Mary Oliver – her genius, her simplicity, her generosity. This is a book of poetry that spans 52 years, from 1963 to 2015. I was gifted this book for my birthday, and, while the size is daunting, I dove in. And I will never be the same. Her words are chosen with great care, and she crafts images that make your universe explode. Her deep study of nature defines most of her work especially in these selected poems. A ritual I have started since receiving this book is taking it outside with me in the morning and flipping to a random page. I drink my coffee, I sit with nature, and I let one of her poems wash over me. It is bliss.
Lingering In Happiness
After rain after many days without rain,
it stays cool, private and cleansed, under the trees,
and the dampness there, married now to gravity,
falls branch to branch, leaf to leaf, down to the ground
where it will disappear- but not, of course, vanish
except to our eyes. The roots of the oaks will have their share,
and the white threads of the grasses, and the cushion of moss;
a few drops, round as pearls, will enter the mole’s tunnel;
and soon so many small stones, buried for a thousand years,
will feel themselves being touched.