We’ve just recorded a new holiday podcast for our friends at Infopeople.
A VISIT TO THE LIBRARY
by Joan Frye Williams (http://www.georgeandjoan.com)
with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore
‘Twas the day before Christmas, all still in the stacks.
Senior staff had already gone home to relax.
The materials nestled all snug on their shelves,
Though we’ve trimmed pages’ hours and can’t afford elves.
We’re all running on empty. Our budget’s a mess!
And that greatly increases our day-to-day stress.
So our tempers are snarly; we mutter and snipe.
When the funding gets gnarly, librarians gripe.
We’re sick of the cutbacks! The mayor’s a fool!
This is so not why I went to library school!
Just then near the door, there arose such a clatter
I sprang from the desk to see what was the matter.
Oh jeez, why does this always happen to me?
We only get crazies when I’m L.I.C.!
The late afternoon gloom made the vestibule dim.
I expected the worst when I walked up to him.
His clothes were disheveled and covered with snow.
Off his meds, I imagined, with no place to go.
As I drew near, he shouted, “Why such a long face?
I should think you’d be happy to work in this place!”
All our regular patrons looked up in dismay.
It was hard to suppress what I wanted to say:
Get out of my library! Take a hike! Shoo!
It’s tough enough here without coping with you!
“Are you the librarian?” came his demand.
“I am, sir.” “That’s great! Then may I shake your hand?
I’m sorry I barged in. I don’t mean to yell
But I have such a marvelous story to tell…
“Years ago, I was brought here — it wasn’t my choice.
I did not want to sit still or lower my voice.
Schoolwork was so boring, and books were so dry.
The mere thought of this place made me just want to cry.
“You see, I thought I knew what was in store for me:
Loss of liberty, silence and sheer drudgery,
Prudes, martinets, spoilsports, old books, dust, and mold,
Dark, gloomy recesses, and horrors untold!
“That was the stereotype. I was naïve.
But you coaxed me to read, and I truly believe
That gift changed me forever. I learned and I grew.
I owe all my successes in some part to you.
“There are so many others, I’m sure, just like me,
Who are touched by your work in ways you never see.
We all think of you gratefully year after year
But you don’t hear about it–so that’s why I’m here.
I’d just like to say thank you, but whom should I praise?
Guess there’s nobody left from those old, bygone days.
“Won’t you share with your colleagues what I’ve said to you?
Though it seems we don’t notice, believe me, we do…
Well, I’m sure you’re quite busy, so I’d better go.
I was just in the neighborhood…thought you should know.”
Then he smiled and he waved and went back out the door,
Leaving me to remember what I’d thought before.
I’d presumed him a nuisance, a waste of my time,
What we call walking workload. Yet he was…sublime!
There is no way of telling, as you ply your trade,
The exact turning point when a difference is made.
You just need to have faith that it matters somehow
And the payoff will come, only later, not now.
Just one brief, chance encounter that cold Christmas Eve
Put me right back in touch with the things I believe.
And I thought to myself, as I locked up that night,
This is still work worth doing. It will be all right!
If you’d like to hear us perform the poem, click here. And have a wonderful holiday season!
–George and Joan