Guess what I did today?!
I accomplished my long-time goal of wanting to visit City Lights Bookstore, located in San Francisco's North Beach.
My friends and I were in North Beach for a portion of the afternoon today, and they were kind enough to indulge me and visit the bookstore. We didn't stay for very long, but I just wanted the opportunity to see the store in its entirety. At first glance, the place looks like a quintessential independent bookstore, with shelves packed with everything from modern fiction, to obscure literature.
But a closer look reveals the history associated with the establishment, one that the store's website details. Many of the signs that adorn the walls are (Lawrence) Ferlinghetti's own work, and there's a certain rustic quality to much of the store, from the creaky staircases to the decrepit windows.
I fell in love with the Poetry Room, which takes up the entire second floor, although the room itself is rather tiny. This room houses the store's poetry collection, as well as the full collection of the Beats' work. There are a couple of antique chairs, as well as an old table, but other than that, the room is open and sparse.
Downstairs, you could feel a little bit of the whispered bustle that persists in bookstores, but in the Poetry Room, all perusing was quiet and calm. There's a hallowed nature to the room that I'm sure is felt only by those who spend their lives geeking out over literature.
As I stood in front of a jam-packed shelf, flipping through collections of Pablo Neruda's poems, I was so hyper-aware of my presence in such a eminent location (nerd alert!). The site served as a launching pad for so much of the Beats' writings, texts that I spent years parsing and discussing in college. I'll never forget the first all-nighter I ever pulled, my first semester of freshman year, to write a paper on William Burroughs' Junky.
I think I could spend all day in this bookstore, particularly the Poetry Room.
And with any luck, one of these days, I will.
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