‘When I First Heard the Learn’d Astronomer’ by I. E. Sbace Weruld The Society September 19, 2014 Beauty, Poetry 1 Comment A counter to a Walt Whitman poem When I first heard the learn’d astronomer explain his proofs and figures, and arrange the particles of this vast universe, I was excited; I was not estranged. I truly loved his charts and diagrams. They made the cosmos understandable, as if I’d found new diamond diadems; its violence explained, deep-endable. Then felt I like Balboa. His design then made the chaos, of this crazed place I’m located in, seem ordered and divine, here in this cool and mystical space-time. In perfect silence I looked at the stars in rivers of eternity’s crossed bars. Featured Image: “The Astronomer” by Johannes Vermeer (1632-1675) NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary. ***Read Our Comments Policy Here*** One Response Sir Bac de Leeuw September 21, 2014 The Astronomer by Johannes Vermeer He sits beside the globe he’s turning with his hand. One wonders, ‘Is it Antonie van Leeuwenhoek?’ It seems as if the world is at his command. He holds his draped desk, spinning his celestial globe, and contemplates it in the corner of the room lit up beside a window, there above a book, which seems to be by Metius, and opened to a section saying inspiration comes from God. Upon the wall there is a picture, if you zoom in, finding Moses in the reeds. All is subdued, the colours, lighting, mood, the furniture and man, a moment taken from eternity—planned awe. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of followup comments via e-mail. You can also subscribe without commenting. Δ This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
Sir Bac de Leeuw September 21, 2014 The Astronomer by Johannes Vermeer He sits beside the globe he’s turning with his hand. One wonders, ‘Is it Antonie van Leeuwenhoek?’ It seems as if the world is at his command. He holds his draped desk, spinning his celestial globe, and contemplates it in the corner of the room lit up beside a window, there above a book, which seems to be by Metius, and opened to a section saying inspiration comes from God. Upon the wall there is a picture, if you zoom in, finding Moses in the reeds. All is subdued, the colours, lighting, mood, the furniture and man, a moment taken from eternity—planned awe. Reply
