Friday 7 February 2020

Science and poetry, the importance of being Ernest


Stamp collecting or the importance of being Ernest

A flock of pigeons, homing pigeons, in a blue sky,
Dance across my vision - like the shoals of floaters,
The smudges, that flicker and swim on my corneas,
Locked to the movement of my eyes – swish and sigh.

In the midst of the city, released from a jerry-built loft,
Amongst the urban sprawl, a sign switched on and off
That turns black to white, pepper to salt, they climb.
Catching the sun, they shimmer and shine – sublime.

Their flight seems coded, as rigid as semaphore;
Its significance invisibly sewn into the atmosphere.
They cut sharp angles with sudden turns; they loop
And swoop, shifting shapes, like a kaleidoscope. 

The formation stretches and contracts and each bird
Keeps its place; each one a cog in the machine,
A ghost; a haunting presence on the astral plane.
They careen overhead, a soft susurration heard

As urgent as any scientist’s prayer, or laugh.
They swarm; they glide; they build the very air -
At once here there everywhere nowhere;
Now out of sight.  What position? What path?

A quantum leap brings them back into orbit,
Pulls them back to a central point from which
A new arrangement of moves begins, each
One an infinitesimal big bang, an atom split,

A universe expanding … and for this moment,
A singular moment, I am the nucleus – potent,
Omniscient … but here comes the crunch;
The birds go to roost and what is left is a hunch

That the meaning is not in the message but
In the very idea that there is a message, that
The cat’s out of the bag but locked in a box.
So were still stuck with faith – it’s all just a hoax.



Click here for Ernest Rutherford

Click here to read about Schrodinger's cat



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