Sunday, August 20, 2006

Is this the end? ( for Foucault's Pendulum )




















The fluttering seconds
Wing into minutes,
A rusting hand sweeps round
Your expressionless clock face,
The pendulum arcs in shadow
Tracing perfect lines in damp sand.

High in the roof
A treacherous, cracked tile admits
A ray of light,
Which threads its way
Down through dense layers of dust
Onto the cathedral’s stone floor.
Time flies,
But the earth stands still.

The silence breaks
Before the diesel’s roar,
Metallic chatter
Of caterpillar tread,
Screeching bulldozer blade,
Crumbling masonry,
Shattered shards,
Splintering screeds.

The chain’s links are broken,
Memory fractured,
Soon entombed,
Oblivious in concrete.
Time flees,
But the earth still stands.

This poem kicked off with Umberto Eco's great book which knocks Dan Brown for six and pre dated him by a long way.

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