Earthlight/Starlight
I.
National Geographic shows on a new fold-out map
A whole year of collected light from Earth:
I can make out my home town’s isolated dot;
The country between Oklahoma City and Norman
Where I was dumped beaten in the rainy dark
Fifty years ago by a rich man’s hired goons
Is now ablaze with light and safe for some,
For light means, safety, knowledge, and easeful living.
The streak outlining Lake Michigan’s shores
Is thickest where I live, and I would not have it
Any other way. The lights may dim soon,
For we have been spending too many old fossils,
But we have always lived on one edge or another,
Avoiding self-destruction by a split hair, and,
Because we cannot fully imagine our not being,
We have a baseless faith that we must survive.
In the meantime banks of Nile and Jordan brighten,
The corridor on I 95 swells and extends,
Rio, Phoenix, Delhi, Beijing, and Athens spread,
Gas flares redden the Persian Gulf, Nigeria glows,
And there is bright carnage again on the Tigris
Where the oldest records tell of Gilgamesh
Trying to avoid death, seeking out the oldest man,
The one who survived the flood the gods sent
When the torches of night cities disturbed them,
But Gilgamesh was told that all of us must die,
Although our brief candle may last a while
If our trickster fire-bringers serve us well
And we learn to save and share before winking out.
II.
Living amid man-made light I seldom see
The spangled sky. No work of mine depends
On star-sign. A yearly visit to the inner
Dome of Adler Planetarium suffices to
Locate my problems in cosmic perspective,
But I know stars are there, can even name
A few and tell some Maya, Greek, or Arab
Tales that once guided shepherds, wise men,
Or planters, maybe guide space probes still.
Last month on Ireland’s Strangford Lough I saw
Them clear with all the proper childhood awe
That I felt sixty years ago sleeping out
In a safe back yard and singing a song
Asking, “Does their glory exceed that of ours?”
I knew early on that awe is the right reaction
And should be passed on even to those who
Will seldom get beyond the urban light spill.
Once on the way back from Disneyland I took
A side road through Tohono O’Odham land
To show my children clear night sky. That is
Open range country. I swerved to miss one steer
And hit another, nothing serious, even local cops
Whose ancestral land this was could hardly keep
From laughing at the family making a detour
Just to look at stars, but stars were there:
The dipper pointing to Polaris, the hero-twins
Born to the Changing Woman, signs that days
Will lengthen for a while and that soon
We can report to friends that the universe is vast.
--J. Quinn Brisben
1 NOV 2004
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