In this poem, Amy Lowell takes us into the Library of Congress, sometime soon after the collections, at once for the use of Congress and a national library, had attained their own space within the Jefferson Building in 1897. She describes the magnificence mainly of the ceilings and walls, preferring that over telling us who is working there. Indeed, in a letter dating from 1923, she notes her neglect of the reading room. She wants to show instead “the main hall with its tiers of balconies and its bright coloured marbles.” She notes, “The confusion and brilliance of the whole, from floor to roof, are, I think, very typical of America. I did not intend “wine-blues” to carry any emotional meaning; I was referring to colour. Have you forgotten the ‘wine-dark’ ocean of Homer?”
In some ways, her words “Bizarre breaker of moulds” could also describe the dual function of the Library of Congress as both manuscript repository and library, its goal in serving every kind of user from school children to advanced scholar.
For a full copy of the poem, see pages 97-103 within Lowell’s book of poems, What’s O’Clock.
For an abridged version, see the Poets.org posting here.
And finally, for more on the perspective on the poem by a staff member at the Library of Congress, see Kurt. S. Maier’s ‘The Congressional Library,’ in the Library of Congress Information Bulletin, vol. 60, no. 1. (1997).
Keeping (and Telling) the Past 