In the glass case, a Gutenberg bible— <br />only three like it left in the world. <br />Surprising myself, I started to cry, <br />there in the Library of Congress, <br /> <br />as though we were seeing <br />a Platonic form <br />instead of a physical thing. <br />In a sense, the millions of books <br />in this and every library, <br />in all the Barnes & Nobles' and Borders' <br />and the ones on my bookshelves at home <br />all descended from this book. <br /> <br />In a glass case nearby <br />an almost identical bible, <br />handwritten by scribes, <br />took years to produce— <br />a labor of love, no doubt, <br /> <br />but Gutenberg granted <br />every poet the dream <br />that his own words in print <br />might encircle the world. <br /> <br />(Now I'll go home and type this <br />and click. It will un-write itself <br />into a flow of electrons <br />like the ones in my brain <br />that gave it birth, <br /> <br />a swarm of bees <br />speeding across the world <br />to rearrange themselves <br />a few seconds later <br />so these words <br />can form on your screen.)<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/04-a-galaxy-past-gutenberg/
