Is “retrotech” a retronym?
Found myself with an exceedingly rare day off to do nothing in particular yesterday –I have no actual memory of the last time this occurred– and wandered around in the Wallingford neighborhood of Seattle, where I soon came across a storefront with three standard-sized typewriters in the window.
Open Books: A Poem Emporium is, from what I am told by the intertubes, one of just two poetry-only bookstores in the United States. It is a charmingly spartan, white-walled space, with a bench in the middle. I chatted with the owners about their typewriters for a minute (“People see the typewriters in the window, and they are always bringing them to us”). They had a Royal, I believe, maybe two– an Underwood 5, I think? Oh, I am useless with identifying standard typewriters.
I’m no poetry buff. Who is? I have fewer excuses than most, having been a literature major as an undergraduate. Nonetheless, I grabbed a Spanish poetry anthology (poetry is actually better than prose for learning a language, excepting the fact that the translated stanzas rarely make sense) and a small volume of Rilke poems and essays, “Rilke on Love and Other Difficulties.” Turns out that Rilke was one profound son of a gun. Might even quote him in my upcoming best-woman speech at a forthcoming summer wedding.
Of course, your intellectual credentials on the matter of poetry are, unlike mine, worth discussion, and thus you plan to share them in the comments. I in fact sense that you spend a fair bit of time sipping absinthe on your fainting couch, and knocking back all the poetic greats in your spare time. Please share those poets that you recommend, and then make haste to buy future poetry volumes from Open Books.