By Carolynn Kingyens

Larry Robin is to Philadelphia what Allen Ginsberg is to Paterson. In short, he is beloved, far and wide.

The Art of Inclusion, The Story of Larry Robin and Moonstone with a Deluge of Tributes, edited by John Lavin, Aaren Perry & Eleanor Wilner, Moonstone Press, 300 pages, $30

The story of Larry Robin, the multigenerational owner of the legendary Robin’s Bookstore and Moonstone Arts Center in Philadelphia, begins with a love of words. As he writes about himself in this moving book of tributes:

I tend to say that it is not poetry that I like, but words. You can write a 300 page novel, a 3 page poem, a 3 line haiku. The question is how do you reach people, make them feel what you feel, see what you see? That is art.

For Robin, creativity runs in his blood like a free-flowing river, not to mention the poetic influence of his stepfather, Larry Konigsberg, who was “at the fringe of the Village group” that included Henry Miller, James Baldwin, Beauford Delany, and others. His mother was a painter, and his father was second-generation owner of Robin’s Bookstore, founded in 1936 by Larry’s grandfather David Robin, located at 21 N. 11th Street in Philadelphia.

Robin was ahead of his time when, in 1958, he opened up a coffeehouse on 12th street, between Spruce and Locust Streets, along with a fellow creative African American in his early 20s named George. This was way before the comfy advent of Starbucks and Central Perk, the fictional coffeehouse and beloved gathering place featured on Friends. That was until the gathering place was shut down by Frank Rizzo, who seemed to share in the same like-minded, fascist paranoia as J. Edgar Hoover, treating coffeehouses like they were drug dens and backroom brothels. Larry explains:

We were the first place raided by Frank Rizzo, then the police captain in our district, on his campaign against coffeehouses. It was obvious to him that there was something bad going on. Blacks and whites sitting together — this had to be stopped. By September, we were out of business.

I remember, back in 1980, when Rizzo was the mayor of Philadelphia. I was six years old then, and just learning my address, phone number, and the names of the city’s politicians. Rizzo came across as an intimidating character, even at 60, when he was nearing the end of his mayoral reign. He looked like a cross between Tony Soprano and Harvey Weinstein, a big bear of a man. I can’t imagine what Rizzo was like when Larry and George crossed paths with him in 1958, back when he was a spry 38-year-old with a chip on his shoulder, and something to prove.

The injustice of it all seemed to have lit an eternal flame within Larry Robin, which he would later weld on behalf of Black Philadelphia poets and writers before his inclusivity branched out in support of various global minorities. Before Robin opened up his own bookstore in 1981, partnering with his late father, he would hitchhike like a true beatnik to San Francisco, one of many pilgrimages he’d take. He would get married, have several children, and in 1964 successfully run an underground bootleg book movement in defense of the First Amendment when Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer was published to much political revolt, including from then Philadelphia District Attorney James Crumlish Jr.

I read Tropic of Cancer while a fresh-faced college student, after having seen the Seinfeld episode entitled “The Library,” the one where Jerry learns he has a library fine from 1971, back when he was a hormonal high school student and had taken out the controversial (and then racy) Tropic of Cancer and had not returned it. I’d blush my way through Miller’s book, later discovering the works of Anaïs Nin and other writers from Gertrude Stein’s Lost Generation.

Larry, along with his father and uncle, would resist the pressure to fold, holding on even after Crumlish had asked the court for an injunction against their bookstore. Despite losing some initial battles, booksellers like the Robin family would win in the end, once the First Amendment case reached the Supreme Court. In between the two rulings, Larry bootlegged 7,000 copies of Miller’s opus.

But Larry’s passion was just beginning. In addition to being a stoic bookstore owner, Robin went on to become a passionate activist, renowned painter and sculptor, community arts director, and owner of Moonstone Press. For 67 years, he has been a tireless advocate for literacy. Moonstone Arts Center has provided a safe space for all voices, especially minorities. He has launched a number of literary careers within the walls of his bookstore at 108 13th Street, an impressive 5,000 feet of floor space.

Robin is to Philadelphia what Allen Ginsberg is to Paterson. In short, he is beloved, far and wide. Understandably, The Art of Inclusion is a love letter that spans almost 300 pages. The adoration is broken down into chapters — it starts off with Robin’s colorful childhood before moving on to the tributes, which run 173 pages, including a litany of praise from well known poets, both in and outside of academia. For example, Sonia Sanchez, a leading figure in the Black Arts Movement, writes:

You brought all kinds of people together to listen to truth, to listen to change, to understand simply that we, that we’ve got to do this if we’re going to make this place a place for us all to stay alive on, you know, and so we thank you. We thank you again and again and again.

Another powerful tribute is by poet Catherine Bancroft, who compares Larry to a natural force field:

What Larry believes in, he does. It’s like being near a mighty river to be near Larry — he has the force to get us to the sea. A Poet of the Impossible. How do we tell the universe how grateful we are?

The homages continue, one more deeply moving than the next, written in the form of poetry and narratives. Towards the end of The Art of Inclusion there’s a section devoted to the visual art of Larry and Sandy, his late wife and beloved partner of 47 years, who ran, for decades, Moonstone’s various art programs for children. This chapter includes, to my mind, museum quality pieces, numerous paintings, sketches, and even a life-sized sculpture named “Renewal” among them.

Peppered throughout the aptly titled book are decades’ worth of photographs and newspaper advertisements announcing past Moonstone readings, ranging from Maya Angelou, who read at Robin’s Bookstore in 1993, to the poetry and jazz of Ted Joans and Arthur Waskow.

While reading the volume, I was reminded of a Charles Bukowski poem, simply titled “Writing,” whose lines could have been written to describe the fiery, yet kind and gentle force that is Larry Robin. These glorious lines, in particular, get at his essence:

writing is the
ultimate
psychiatrist,
the kindliest
god of all the
gods.
writing stalks
death.
it knows no
quit.

Carolynn Kingyens is the author of two poetry collections, Before the Big Bang Makes a Sound and Coupling, both published by Kelsay Books. In addition to poetry, she publishes essays, reviews, and short fiction. Two of her short stories were selected for Best of Fiction 2021 and 2023 by Across the Margin, a Brooklyn arts & culture webzine. Her essay “There’s a Tiffany in Every Dysfunctional Family,” about Tiffany Sedaris, the youngest sister of David and Amy Sedaris, was republished (condensed version) by YourTango, a NYC publisher. You can read her essays on Medium.