Searching by Billy Collins I recall someone once admitting that all he remembered of Anna Karenina was something about a picnic basket, and now, after consuming a book devoted to the subject of Barcelona— its people, its history, its complex architecture— all I remember is the mention of an albino gorilla, the inhabitant of a park where the Citadel of the Bourbons once stood. The sheer paleness of her looms over all the notable names and dates as the evening strollers stop before her and point to show their children. These locals called her Snowflake, and here she has been mentioned again in print in the hope of keeping her pallid flame alive and helping her, despite her name, to endure in this poem where she has found another cage. Oh, Snowflake, I had no interest in the capital of Catalonia— its people, its history, its complex architecture— no, you were the reason I kept my light on late into the night turning all those pages, searching for you everywhere.
Posted on: Wed, 05 Mar 2014 23:32:58 +0000