The War of the Worlds
I looked up into the night sky a couple of weeks ago and noticed a planet that looked almost as bright in the night sky as Venus, but it was red. I found out it was the planet Mars gleaming with an intensity never seen before, because I later discovered that at this time, August of two thousand and three, Mars is closer to Earth than it has ever been in the history of mankind. It was alone in it's part of the sky but then I realized that the moon passes nearby once a month. Then I finally remembered my poem that I wrote in Paris in 1980.
And, while that could be any month when the moon and Mars shone together in that fateful sky, I thought I might go ahead and include the poem here. It's the age-old theme: eternity vs. the erroneous human mind. That in the end, time and tide wipe out everything and also we might as well be prepared for that. We should perhaps do the best we can and then be prepared for the possibility that what awaits each of us eventually will be something completely and absolutely unexpected and unfathomable. In deepest intuition no one is convinced that ultimately there is naught but oblivion.
Throughout the work runs my reminder that my struggles, at times almost overwhelming, don't permit the presence of thought nor sufficient time to produce, at least for the moment, any more than the often vague phrases and metaphors I labor to supply. The mariner only goes to the haven port if he or she believes it to be there, or else, by some providence, he or she happen upon it.
We live in a society, as has happened, I suppose, throughout history, of entrapment, of the more informed victimizing the less. The planet itself often becomes a trap in it's entirety, locking us as we are however briefly in finite time. It is an existence rife with dishonesty, so much so that it seems mere humans would be incapable of such machination, but that in their historic midst lurks something not human but antihuman, manipulating mankind to destroy itself.
The work is set to
music. This is played as a part of the page at least with the explorer
browser.
It's mp3 at 16kps for fast loading.
Forgive the rendition. I only had one chance to record this today
(08/27/03), so it's a bit rough.
It should take a little over three minutes.
The rose of Mars, the silver Moon, can blend their light
o'er day of doom.
For there'll be day as well as night
before the endless in array,
destroy embattled mind machines:
the snake in man's vindictive play.
The neutral's thoughts are never clean.
In heartless hell abstentions stay.
Ah, but the battles are too great, my friend,
I cannot tell you here.
I can only give you little hints
to try to make the clues appear.
Shall I sing of water springs?
Or the islands far and small?
Or how to reach your haven ports,
if they, for you, exist at all.
Enough wisdom to escape the trap,
enough love to help the others back;
free to get past where you are
on the gambit of this finite track.
No.
For the battles are too great, my friend,
I cannot tell you here.
I can only give you little hints...little hints...
to try to make the clues appear.
Try to make the clues appear.
Try to make the clues
appear.
Click here to return to the cosmos article: "The Influence of Microgravity on Human Behavior".
Click on any of the following to go there:
The War of the Worlds. Two worlds, one with the wars and one with an influence.
The invisible is decisive in every advent of a victim. The unseen leaves a foot print.
http://www.paulhallart.com is authored and created by Paul A. L. Hall.
Copyright © 2003 by Paul A. L. Hall. All rights reserved.
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The battles are too great my friend. I cannot tell you here. I can only give you little hints to try to make the clues appear.