BOOKWORMS
Bookworms are persons who are
extremely devoted to reading. They love books
, buy or borrow them , and spend almost every moment of their life among old and new books.
You can call them avid readers and
collectors of books. Other names for them are book-lovers, bibliophiles,
studious individuals, scholars, and bibliomaniacs.
The term bookworm is used both in
the negative and positive sense. A bookaholic is addicted to buying, collecting
and reading books. He is a serious person, not a light-hearted one. His eyes
are always focused on books even when he is travelling or having his meals.
In the positive sense a bookworm is
an enthusiastic consumer of books. You will find his room loaded with
stocks of old and new books on a particular or variety of subjects.
The most well-known 18th-century
poem titled “The Book-worm“ was written
by Thomas Parnell (1679-1718). He was an Irish poet and scholar. According to a
commentator his poem is a humorous take on a creature that eats books, arguing
that it gains more knowledge than “hungry” scholars who only care about the
books’ value.
Another poem titled “The Bookworm”
is by Robert Buchanan (1841-1901) who
lived a somewhat Bohemian life. If I am not wrong, he was a Scottish poet,
novelist and dramatist. A few stanzas of his aforesaid poem follow.
With
spectacles upon his nose
He
shuffles up and down ;
Of
antique fashion are his clothes,
His
naples hat is brown,
A
mighty watch, of silver wrought,
Keeps
time in sun and rain
To
the dull ticking of the thought
Within
his dusty brain.
To
see him at the bookstall stand
And
bargain for the prize
With
the old sixpence in his hand
And
greed in his grey eyes !
Then,
conquering, grasp the book, half blind,
And
take the homeward track
For
fear the man should change his mind
And
want the bargain back.
But
think not as he walks along
His
brain is dead and cold;
His
soul is thinking in the tongue
Which
Plato spake of old ;
And
while some grinning cabman sees
His
quaint shape with a jeer
He
smiles ----for Aristophanes
Is
joking in his ear.
Around
him stretch Athenian walks
And
strange shapes under trees ;
He
pauses in a dream and talks
Great
speech with Socrates.
Then
as the fancy fails ---still meshed
In
thoughts that go and come,
Feels
in his pouch, and is refreshed
At
touch of some old tome.
After a few more stanzas, the poem
concludes with the last one which consists of the following lines:
A
good old Ragpicker is he
Who,
following morn and eve
The
quick feet of humanity,
Searches
the dust they leave ;
He
pokes the dust, he sifts with care,
He
searches close and deep,
Proud
to discover here and there
A
treasure in the heap !
*****
G.R.Kanwal
19 April 2026