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"You know Orion always comes up sideways."You know Orion always comes up sideways
"You know Orion always comes up sideways. Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains, And rising on his hands, he looks in on me Busy outdoors by lantern-light with something I should have done by daylight, and indeed, After the ground is frozen, I should have done Before it froze, and a gust flings a handful Of waste leaves at my smoky lantern chimney To make fun of my way of doing things, Or else fun of Orion's having caught me. Has a man, I should like to ask, no rights These forces are obliged to pay respect to?" So Brad McLaughlin mingled reckless talk Of heavenly stars with hugger-mugger farming, Till having failed at hugger-mugger farming, He burned his house down for the fire insurance And spent the proceeds on a telescope To satisfy a lifelong curiosity About our place among the infinities.
"What do you want with one of those blame things?" I asked him well beforehand. "Don't you get one!"
"Don't call it blamed; there isn't anything More blameless in the sense of being less A weapon in our human fight," he said. "I'll have one if I sell my farm to buy it." There where he moved the rocks to plow the ground And plowed between the rocks he couldn't move, Few farms changed hands; so rather than spend years Trying to sell his farm and then not selling, He burned his house down for the fire insurance And bought the telescope with what it came to. He had been heard to say by several: "The best thing that we're put here for's to see; The strongest thing that's given us to see with's A telescope. Someone in every town Seems to me owes it to the town to keep one. In Littleton it may as well be me." After such loose talk it was no surprise When he did what he did and burned his house down.
Mean laughter went about the town that day To let him know we weren't the least imposed on, And he could wait—we'd see to him tomorrow. But the first thing next morning we reflected If one by one we counted people out For the least sin, it wouldn't take us long To get so we had no one left to live with. For to be social is to be forgiving. Our thief, the one who does our stealing from us, We don't cut off from coming to church suppers, But what we miss we go to him and ask for. He promptly gives it back, that is if still Uneaten, unworn out, or undisposed of. It wouldn't do to be too hard on Brad About his telescope. Beyond the age Of being given one for Christmas gift, He had to take the best way he knew how To find himself in one. Well, all we said was He took a strange thing to be roguish over. Some sympathy was wasted on the house, A good old-timer dating back along; But a house isn't sentient; the house Didn't feel anything. And if it did, Why not regard it as a sacrifice, And an old-fashioned sacrifice by fire, Instead of a new-fashioned one at auction?
Out of a house and so out of a farm At one stroke (of a match), Brad had to turn To earn a living on the Concord railroad, As under-ticket-agent at a station Where his job, when he wasn't selling tickets, Was setting out up track and down, not plants As on a farm, but planets, evening stars That varied in their hue from red to green.
He got a good glass for six hundred dollars. His new job gave him leisure for stargazing. Often he bid me come and have a look Up the brass barrel, velvet black inside, At a star quaking in the other end. I recollect a night of broken clouds And underfoot snow melted down to ice, And melting further in the wind to mud. Bradford and I had out the telescope. We spread our two legs as it spread its three, Pointed our thoughts the way we pointed it, And standing at our leisure till the day broke, Said some of the best things we ever said. That telescope was christened the Star-Splitter, Because it didn't do a thing but split A star in two or three the way you split A globule of quicksilver in your hand With one stroke of your finger in the middle. It's a star-splitter if there ever was one, And ought to do some good if splitting stars 'Sa thing to be compared with splitting wood.
We've looked and looked, but after all where are we? Do we know any better where we are, And how it stands between the night tonight And a man with a smoky lantern chimney? How different from the way it ever stood?
You know Orion always comes up sideways. Orion appears in the sky at an angle. He looks down at me with curiosity While I work outside by lantern light on something I should have completed during the day, and indeed, I should have finished it before the ground froze. A gust of wind throws some leaves At my chimney, which is smoky from the lantern, Mocking my way of doing things, Or perhaps mocking Orion for noticing me. I want to ask, does a man have no rights That these forces must respect? Brad McLaughlin mixed wild talk About stars with messy farming practices, Until he failed at farming, He burned his house for the insurance money And used the money to buy a telescope To satisfy his lifelong curiosity About our place in the universe.
"What do you want with one of those things?" I asked him before. "Don't you want one?"
"Don't call it bad; it's not a weapon In our human struggles," he said. "I'll get one if I have to sell my farm to buy it." He moved rocks to plow the land And plowed between the rocks he couldn't move, Few farms changed owners; so instead of spending years Trying to sell his farm and failing, He burned his house for the insurance money And bought the telescope with the proceeds. He had been heard saying: "The best thing we are here for is to see; The strongest tool we have for seeing is A telescope. Someone in every town Should have one, and it might as well be me." After such talk, it was no surprise When he burned his house down.
Mean laughter spread through the town that day To show him we weren't bothered at all, And he could wait—we'd deal with him tomorrow. But the next morning we thought If we counted people out For the smallest sin, we would soon have no one left To live with. To be social means to be forgiving. Our thief, the one who steals from us, We don't exclude from church dinners, But what we lose we go to him and ask for. He usually returns it, if it's still Unused, unworn, or not disposed of. We shouldn't be too hard on Brad About his telescope. Beyond the age For receiving one as a Christmas gift, He had to find the best way he knew To acquire one. Well, we all said He took a strange thing to be mischievous about. Some sympathy was wasted on the house, An old one that had been around for a long time; But a house isn't alive; it didn't feel anything. And if it did, Why not see it as a sacrifice, An old-fashioned sacrifice by fire, Instead of a modern one at auction?
Out of a house and a farm In one stroke (of a match), Brad had to switch To earning a living on the Concord railroad, As a ticket agent at a station Where his job, when he wasn't selling tickets, Was to set out, not plants As on a farm, but planets, evening stars That changed colors from red to green.
He bought a good telescope for six hundred dollars. His new job allowed him time for stargazing. Often he invited me to look Through the brass tube, which was black inside, At a star shaking at the other end. I remember a night with broken clouds And snow underfoot melting into ice, And melting further in the wind into mud. Bradford and I took out the telescope. We spread our legs like it spread its three legs, Pointed our thoughts the way we pointed it, And stood leisurely until dawn broke, Saying some of the best things we ever said. That telescope was named the Star-Splitter, Because it only split A star into two or three like you split A drop of quicksilver in your hand With one stroke of your finger. It's a star-splitter if there ever was one, And should do some good if splitting stars Is something to compare with splitting wood.
We've looked and looked, but where are we? Do we know any better where we are, And how it stands between tonight's sky And a man with a smoky lantern chimney? How different from how it ever was?