Magicians

 

November 7, 1974 (I was 29)  

 

         Magicians

                  1

Formulae are not magic;

precise measurements are made in the corroded kitchen

(the technicians are clean but their chemicals corrode).

Precise measurements produce the desired compounds.

The automated scientist makes the right moves

and molecular orbits are reordered,

routine practiced and polished.

                 2

The truth of routine is extended lie;

it does not have a day one.

Its deadly infinity is both linear and circular;

repetition becomes a subtle puzzle,

a rubber stamp applied with random force,

the jigsaw continuity of separate reality,

ink arranged in capillaries.

                 3

Magic is the end not the means.

The result of the experiment is predetermined,

the eye becomes a caliper, the hand a scale pan

the ear a syncopated metronome.

The tuned performer is in harmony with the performance;

the volunteer is levitated

but it’s the magician who feels like he’s floating.

                 4

After awhile there are no tricks.

The wand disappears, the arc is still there,

a comet as quick as we imagine comets to be.

Sneer of cold command weathers to benign smile,

incantation gives way to chanting.

The audience is made of stone

and water and tree and cloud and stars.