Ginsberg: Poem Rocket

Extracts from 'Poem Rocket'

This is my rocket my personal rocket I send up my message

Beyond

Someone to hear me there

My immortality

without steel or cobalt basalt or diamond gold or mercurial fire

without passports filing cabinets bits of paper warheads

without myself finally

pure thought

message all and everywhere the same

I send up my rocket to land on whatever planet awaits it

preferably religious sweet planets no money

fourth dimensional planets where Death shows movies

plants speak (courteously) of ancient physics and poetry itself is manufactured by the trees

the final Planet where the Great Brain of the Universe sits waiting for a poem to land in His Golden pocket

joining the other notes mash-notes love-sighs complaints-musical shrieks of despair and the million unutterable thoughts of frogs

moon+over+imperial+web.jpg

The moon over Imperial College and a brilliantly lit planet.....

Jean Hans Arp: The Plain

I was alone with a chair on a plain
Which lost itself in an empty horizon. 

The plain was flawlessly paved. 
Nothing, absolutely nothing but the chair and I
were there. 

The sky was forever blue, 
No sun gave life to it. 

An inscrutable, insensible light
illuminated the infinite plain. 

To me this eternal day seemed to be projected -- 
artificially-- from a different sphere. 

I was never sleepy nor hungry nor thirsty, 
never hot nor cold. 

Time was only an abstruse ghost
since nothing happened or changed. 

In me Time still lived a little
This, mainly, thanks to the chair. 

Because of my occupation with it
I did not completely
lose my sense of the past. 

Now and then I'd hitch myself, as if I were a horse, to the chair
and trot around with it, 
sometimes in circles, 
and sometimes straight ahead. 

I assume that I succeeded. 

Whether I really succeeded I do not know
Since there was nothing in space
By which I could have checked my movements. 

As I sat on the chair I pondered sadly, but not desperately, 
Why the core of the world exuded such black light. 

 

Jean Hans Arp was an artist - painter, sculptor and poet.  Looking at his work over the years, I had a hunch that he thought about physics, though couldn't find any formal mention of it.  Then, I found this poem where he considers time when nothing happens and 'movement'  through space when there is no fixed reference point.