Sunday, 11 December 2011

The Sunday Post


 
Reach me down my Tycho Brahe,
I would know him when we meet,
When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet;
He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how
We are working to completion, working on from then to now.
Pray remember that I leave you all my theory complete,
Lacking only certain data for your adding, as is meet,
And remember men will scorn it, 'tis original and true,
And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you.
But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learned the worth of scorn,
You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn,
What for us are all distractions of men's fellowship and smiles;
What for us the Goddess Pleasure with her meretricious smiles!
You may tell that German College that their honor comes too late,
But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant's fate.
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

The Old Astronomer to His Pupil
By Sarah Williams

13 comments:

Nicky said...

"..meretricious smiles" - wonderful! Can't remember the last time I saw the word meretricious used. The beauty of poetry!

IndigoWrath said...

Hey Alistair!

"I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night."

I think the lady nailed it.

Indigo

Alistair said...

Nicky - meretricious use of the word don't you think?

Indigo - absulutely!

Twisted Scottish Bastard said...

WRONG:
It's Tycho Brahe, not Tyche Brahe.

Like the crater on the Moon named after him. Crater.

Alistair said...

OK! OK! - Don't shout - it's a typo!


THERE - sorted now......

Cheers!

Twisted Scottish Bastard said...

Thank you.

I'm a teacher.

We get obsessive about things like that.

Sorry.
*grins shamefacedly while at the same time examining you for any uniform infractions*

Alistair said...

It's ok. You must be stressed out - what with all them holidays n that!

{Walks off punching the air!!}

I hear the patter of tiny timetables scattering into corners where they're hard to find but come out at night to haunt you......

Antares Cryptos said...

Loved it.

Yes, I know. I used the "l" word.

Alistair said...

It's beautiful and very precious to me too. I spoke the last two lines over my father when he died. I couldn't think of anything else somehow.

Rebecca S. said...

If I were Twisted Scottish Bastard's pupil, I'd be terrified :)
Yes, the last two lines are perfect, somehow.

Alistair said...

I think he'd be a good teacher - and probably a good deal softer than he makes out.

Probably a bit of am old grump though.

Twisted Scottish Bastard said...

Thank you Alistair and Rebecca. I try hard to be both grumpy and caring. It's difficult to get the balance just right, but after 15years, I think I've got it. 95% grumpy/4% caring/1% pure bastard.

My favourite poem is also about the ight, and I'd want it at my funeral.


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

Alistair said...

Beautiful stuff TSB.

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