30 Poems for a Father Who Loved Books

Help me turn grief into something tangible.

In March, my dad died unexpectedly after surgery. A month later, I wrote my first poem in 19 years—about the peonies in my backyard. He had transplanted them from our family farm in New Jersey to my home in Baltimore. Peonies can live for 100 years. Like stories, they keep blooming long after the storyteller is gone.

Since then, the poems haven’t stopped.

This July, I’m participating in the 30/30 Project with Tupelo Press, writing one poem each day to raise money for this small but mighty nonprofit literary press. It’s a way to honor my dad’s love of stories—and to support a press that believes poetry still matters.

My dad ran a secondhand bookshop at the Collingswood Auction and later online. He always knew what book I needed before I did. We called him the Book Baron. He made stories feel personal—like bedtime myths written just for me. He’s the reason I read. He’s the reason I write.

If you’ve ever lost someone who shaped who you are—

If you believe in the power of language—

If you love poetry, or books, or just a good underdog story—

I hope you’ll give what you can.

Your donation supports Tupelo Press and helps me reach my fundraising goal as a July 30/30 poet. More than that, it helps keep poetry—and memory—alive.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for caring. Thank you for helping me turn grief into something you can hold.

In memory of Bruce Goldberg — the Book Baron.

Dara

P.S. Read more about my dad in his obituary—written by me, my brother, and my mom, with a little help from my nieces.

If you’ve ever loved a book, believed in poetry, or missed someone deeply—thank you for donating. Every gift helps keep poetry and memory alive. In memory of Bruce Goldberg—The Book Baron.