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Einstein

Standing between the sun and moon preservesA certain secrecy.

Or seems to

Something inviolate if only

His father was an ape.

Sweet music

All of his walls sound hollow and he

Sighs in the paneling and

Melancholy voices.

So there is a

Behind the seamless arras and withinA living something:— but no door that

Admit the sunlight nor no windows

The mirror moon can penetrate his

With cold deflection.

He is small and

And solidly contracted into

Opaque and perpendicular which

Earth with its shadow.

And he

In shoes which bearing up against the

Attract his concentration,       (Einstein upon a public bench Wednesday the ninth contemplates finity)for he

If there why then no farther, as,

Extensively the universe itself,

Or chronologically the two

Original and ultimate of time,

Nor could Jehovah and the million

Staring within their solitudes of light,

Nor all night's constellations be

Between his boundaries,nor could the

Receive him nor his groping roots run

Into the loam and steaming sink of

Where coils the middle serpent and the

Breeds maggots.

But it seems assured he

Precisely at his shoes in proof

He can revolve in orbits

The orbit of the earth and so

All planetary converse.

And he

Cloths that distinguish him from what is

His own circumference, as first a

Shaped to his back or modeled in

Of the surrounding cosmos and

Trousers preserving his detachment

The revolutions of the stars.         (Einstein descends the Hartmannsweilerstrasse)His

And face go naked and alone

With what encloses him, as rough and

And sound and silence and the

Of rippling ether and the swarming

Clouding a privy: move to them and

Shadows that mirror them within his

In perpendiculars and curves and

And bodiless significances

As figures undersea and

Patterned from eddies of the air.

Which

Perhaps not shadows but the thing

And may be understood. (Einstein provisionally beforea mirror accepts the hypothesis of subjective

The petals of the enfolding world and leaveA world in reason which is in

And has his own dimensions.

Here do

Adorn the hillside and hillsides

The hazy marches of the sky and

Kindle and char to ashes in the wind,

And winds blow toward him from the verge, and

Rise on his dawn and on his dusk go

And moons prolong his shadow.

And he

Here as within a garden in a

And where he moves the bubble of the

Takes center and there circle round his

Like golden flies in summer the gold stars....rejects

Disintegrates.

For suddenly he

The planet plunge beneath him, and a

Falls from the upper darkness to the

And awful shadows loom across the

That have no life from him and suns go

And livid as a drowned man's face the

Floats to the lapsing surface of the

And sinks discolored under.

So he

Less than a world and must

Beyond his knowledge. (Einstein unsuccessfully after lunch attempts to enter, essaying synthesis with what's not he, the Bernese Oberland)Outstretched on the

He plunges both his arms into the

Of what surrounds him but the yielding

Excludes his finger tips and the soft

Will not endure confusion with his

Nor will the air receive him nor the

Dissolve their difference but recoiling

Back from his touch.

By which denial he

Crawl on the earth and sense the opposing

But not make answer to them.      Put out

And let the old remembering wind think throughA green intelligence or under

Float out long filaments of amber

The numb and wordless revery of tides.

In autumn the black branches dripping

Bruise his uncovered bones and in the

His swollen tips are gorged with aching

That bursts the laurel.

But although they

His sense he has no name for them, no

To give them meaning and no

For what they say.

Feel the new summer's

Crawl up the warmed relaxing hide of

And weep for his lost youth, his childhood

And a wide water on an inland shore!

Or to the night's mute asking in the

Give back a girl's name and three notes together!

He cannot think the smell of after

Nor close his thought around the long smooth

And falter of a wind, nor bring to

Dusk and the whippoorwill.   (Einstein dissolved in violins invades the molecular structure of F.

P.

Paepke's Sommergarten.

Is repulsed)      But

Split out of trees and strung to tone can

Strange nameless words that image to the

What has no waiting image in the brain.

She plays in darkness and the droning

Dissolves to reverberations of a

Beating in waves against him till his

Trembles to rhythm and his naked

Feels without utterance in form the

Of dumb and incommunicable earth,

And knows at once, and without knowledge how,

The stroke of the blunt rain, and blind

The sun.

When he a moment

The hollow of himself and like an

Pervades all other.  But the

Presses its dry insistence through the

That swims above it, shivering its

Back to a rhythm that becomes

Music and vaguely ravels into sound.(To Einstein asking at the gate of stone none opens)So then there is no speech that can

Their texture to clear thought and enter them.

The Virgin of Chartres whose bleaching bones still

The sapphires of her glory knew a word—That now is three round letters like the

Round empty staring punctures in a skull.

And there were words in Rome once and one

Words at Eleusis.

Now there are no

Nor names to name them and they will not

But grope against his groping touch and

The long unmeaning shadows of

Across his shadow and resist his sense.    (Einstein hearing behind the wall of the Grand Hotel du Nord the stars discovers the Back Stair)Why then if they resist destroy them.

Yet speak them in their elements.

Whole,

Break them to reason.

He lies upon his

Exerting on Arcturus and the

Forces proportional inversely

The squares of their remoteness and

The universe.

Atomic.

He can

Ocean in atoms and weigh out the

In multiples of one and

Light to its numbers.

If they will not

Let them be silent in their particles.

Let them be dead and he will lie

Their dust and cipher them—undo the

Of their unreal identities and

The pure and single factor of all sums—Solve them to unity.

Scooped handfuls out of stones and like the

Let earth run through his fingers.

Well, he too,

He can achieve obliquity and

The cold distortion of the winter's

That breaks the surfaces of summer.(Einstein on the terrasse of The Acacias forces the secret door)

Facing the world upon a windy

And with his mind relaxes the stiff

Of all he sees until the heavy

Impend like rushing water and the

Hangs on the steep and momentary

Of overflowing ruin.

Overflow!

Sweep over into movement and

All differences in the indifferent flux!

Crumble to eddyings of dust and

In change the thing that changes!

There beginsA vague unquiet in the fallow ground,

A seething in the grass, a bubbling

Over the surface of the fields that

Around him gathering until the

Boils and under frothy loam the

Ferment and simmer and like thinning

The trees melt into nothing.

Still he

Watching the vortex widen and

In swirling dissolution the whole

And circle through the skies till swaying

Collapses crumpling into dark the

And motion ceases and the sifting

Opens beneath.

When he shall feel

His flesh with the rent body of all

And spin within his opening brain the

Of suns and worlds and spaces.(Einstein enters like a foam)His flesh is withered and his

And ashy bones are scattered on the dark.

But still the dark denies him.

Still

The dust his penetration and flings

Himself to answer him.            Which seems to

Something inviolate.

A living something.

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Archibald MacLeish

Archibald MacLeish (May 7, 1892 – April 20, 1982) was an American poet and writer who was associated with the modernist school of poetry. MacLei…
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