Table of Contents
to Gale Garnett
POINTS for a COMPASS ROSE
LET ME BEGIN my story like all true myths with the statement that I never knew my parents. Next, permit me to describe myself. My features, unless I feel animated, express indolence and sloth. My mouth with its moist sensual lips usually hangs open because I have trouble breathing through my nose. My small brown eyes gaze inward. As you can guess, I spend my days aloneto say nothing of the nights. Do you know who I am?
A teacher of classical drama might criticize me
for addressing you intimately, and point out that
the poet should pretend to be talking to himself
or to somebody else. But Im sick of old devices.
Listen. Ive decided to take a trip. Im going to Padua
like Mikolaj Kopernik to study Achellinis cosmography;
like Andreas Vesalius to visit the master anatomists;
like Albrecht Drer to Firenze. I dont plan to return
altogether ignorant, and youre welcome to join me.
So what do you say? Come along. Lets travel together.
God our suzerain has a duty to protect His vassals;
but with Him or without well go back and forth
along the dusty ways choosing all knowledge
as our provenance. Interspersing fact with lore,
interpreting experience in terms of moral purpose,
we can adopt the method of our medieval predecessors.
Only dont forget: those who go on pilgrimages
seldom become saints. Do you understand?
Look. My uncle is designing a cathedral
although hes not been sponsored by any church.
When people ask whos to pay for the material
he dismisses the question, because in his view
the visible world is nothing but a reflection
of some incomprehensible spiritual order.
Is that clear?
Let me put it this way. I quote the Governor of Bithynia,
Pliny the Younger, as he writes uneasily to Trajan
for advice on how to negotiate with Christians.
I have never participated in interrogations...
Thus he begins, the rest of the letter testifying
to his distress and bewilderment. Trajan responds
majestically that Christians ought to be punished
although he does not think they need be hunted,
which means that he doesnt consider them a threat.
How little Emperors perceive.
Clement Attlee was the Prime Minister of England
who concurred with President Trumans decision
to annihilate Hiroshima. However, 16 years later
Attlee wrote: We knew nothing whatever at the time
about the genetic effects of an atomic explosion.
I knew nothing about fall-out and all the rest...
Yet H. J. Muller had won the Nobel Prize in 1927
for investigating the genetic effects of radiation.
Are we not ruled by cliques of men as uninformed
as Palestinian shepherds?
Biologists who discovered radiostrontium in burns
suffered by animals exposed to atomic tests in Nevada
understood quite well the sinister quest of strontium
for bone; but their investigations were restricted,
classified under the code name Operation Sunshine
and units of strontium labeled Sunshine Units.
Now do you see what I mean?
Look. High-level radioactive wastes may persist
for thousands of years. Much of this garbage
nobody knows how muchis buried in areas
called Farms. Maybe you dont mind being deceived,
but I bitterly resent it. Hatred nourishes me.
Gentlemen, we have been adv...
Toads hop out of their mouths;
snakes dangle from their nostrils.
Frost must be correct: doomed to broken careers
we should abide our incompleteness. Still
disobedience offers some choice. Take your pick.
This legend in gilded letters on the tower
of Knigsbergs green gate might guide you:
Vultus fortunae variatur imagine lunae:
Crescit, decrescit, constans persistere nescit.
It means that the face of fortune varies
and knows not how to remain steadfast.
Fine dust settles on fragments of the past, my friend;
not one of us can guess what happens next.
My mother used to say I had about me an uncommon
dreaminess, which made me indifferent to the future.
She was right, of course. But as Vergil wrote:
each is attracted by his own special pleasure.
My brother, with the natural affability of genius,
graciously permits children to climb on his back
and fools to pick his brains. As for myself,
less gifted, I can abide neither. Like Socrates
my brother can follow arguments where they lead.
Beautiful, alight with wisdom and goodness
he reminds me of Odins son Balderreputedly
the one perfect beingbecause of his reluctance
to conclude anything. Or of the musician Ives
spending years on some intricate symphony
he never meant to finish. Trahit sua quemque...
You probably realize that ideas interpenetrate
just as galaxies are able to pass through each other,
while bold analogies occur to percipient men
like a celestial tide. Ill give you an example.
Listen. Nobody denies that the spider spins a web
out of its venomous self, or that good wine sours
in an ugly glass.
Heres another. Ethiopians are black Saracens;
Chingis Cham was slain by a thunderclap.
The Danube is guarded by a swarm of bees; in Damascus
Christians bloody heads lie about the marketplace
more numerous than watermelons.
This reminds me of Richard Coeur de Lion
demonstrating the edge of his sword to Saladin
by savagely hacking a bar of iron in half.
Then the Moslem displayed his scimitar
by tossing a cushion in the air and quartering it
without a sound. This was to be expected, of course,
because Arab astronomers had been calculating
equinoctial precession and the angle of the ecliptic
while Europeans were interpreting a fanciful sky
decorated with goats, bulls, crabs and fishes.
My son thinks Im obsessed by forgotten affairs.
Ive tried to explain that love of the antique
for its own sake isnt the reason, nor conceit
nor a feeling of condescension, but some urge
to know how Man conducts himselfhow he became
what he isto trace his arduous descent
through innumerable thickets to the present.
Id like to rediscover us in our first pleasure
and pain, in our bewilderment and creative effort,
success, wretched failure and all the rest.
I doubt if he understood. So much the worse;
maybe hell catch up with me, maybe he wont.
Ill wait for nobody.
Take humanitys ubiquitous interest in business:
Saracens, observing how the Crusaders coveted plumes
for their helmets, opened ostrich farms in Egypt.
Glass was manufactured by Egyptians and Phoenicians
long before Christ, yet this lucrative art was neglected
by the Greeks. Why? Various answers have been suggested
but perhaps the most obvious explanation is overlooked
because we have trouble imagining patterns of thought
which exclude profit. Put it like this: the Greeks,
sensuous as they were, might have considered glass
rather unpleasantbrittle, monotonous, odorless,
devoid of texturean odd substance admittedly useful
but disagreeable.
A single pound of Phoenician purple silk, by the way,