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The money and the milk and the honey
To all of you—even those of you who had a good 2007—a happier and healthier year. All of you. It's about time.
January
Iane biceps, anni tacite labentis origo,
solus de superis qui tua terga vides . . .
—Ovid, Fasti 1.64—65
He leans his arms on the gate as it swings
in the twilight, the keys dangling from his fingers
no more silver than his hair: an old man
with a young face, shadowed in the western sun
and the easterly moon, the stars through whose circle
time endlessly falls. Both ways he casts a shadow.
Tetradrachms and Turing machines. Quartos
and quantum entanglement. Offer him sweet figs,
ash-cakes, pale honey like a winter dawn
or uncertainties as tightly held as passports,
the price and the prize are the same in the end.
Heartbreak and heat death, the only road
to peace. From the rusted wood, the nails
have fallen to cut hexagrams in the snow.
January
Iane biceps, anni tacite labentis origo,
solus de superis qui tua terga vides . . .
—Ovid, Fasti 1.64—65
He leans his arms on the gate as it swings
in the twilight, the keys dangling from his fingers
no more silver than his hair: an old man
with a young face, shadowed in the western sun
and the easterly moon, the stars through whose circle
time endlessly falls. Both ways he casts a shadow.
Tetradrachms and Turing machines. Quartos
and quantum entanglement. Offer him sweet figs,
ash-cakes, pale honey like a winter dawn
or uncertainties as tightly held as passports,
the price and the prize are the same in the end.
Heartbreak and heat death, the only road
to peace. From the rusted wood, the nails
have fallen to cut hexagrams in the snow.
no subject
no subject
Thank you. Happy New Year!