Song of Two Worlds

Alan Lightman

• Publisher: Red Hen Press
• Year: 2017
• eBook ISBN: 9781597095846
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: American Poetry
• Index: Literature

"VERDICT A vivid and moving book-length narrative poem that places the reader inside of a universe of wonder; of interest to poetry readers and beyond." —Library Journal

From the author of international bestseller Einstein's Dreams and National Book Award nominee The Diagnosis.

After decades of living "hung like a dried fly," emptied and haunted by his past, the narrator, a man who has lost his faith in all things following a mysterious personal tragedy, awakens one morning revitalized and begins a Dante-like journey to find something to believe in, first turning to the world of science and then to the world of philosophy, religion, and human life. As his personal story is slowly revealed, little by little, we confront the great questions of the cosmos and of the human heart, some questions with answers and others without. An exciting new illustrated edition of a unique narrative poem.

PART I

Questions with Answers

1

Awake—

What are these quick shots of warmth,

Fractals of forests

That wind through my limbs?

Fragrance of olive and salt taste of skin,

Razz-tazz and clackety sound?

Figures and shapes slowly wheel past my view,

Villas and deserts, distorted faces,

Children, my children—

Distant, the pink moons of my feet.

What rules do they follow?

I think movement, they wondrously move,

Moons flutter and shake.

I probe the hills and the ruts of my face—

Now I grow large, now

I grow small, as the waves

Of sensation break over my shore.

There, a gnarled tree I remember,

A stone vessel, the curve of a hill.

What is the hour?

Some silence still sleeps

In my small sleeping room—

Is it end or beginning?

2

Have I awakened?

For decades, it seems, I have slept in a cave,

Hung like a dried fly

Sucked of all insides and faith.

Am I awake

After so many foldings unfoldings,

The loose flaps and threads?

Something is stirring, some newness,

A flail, buzz, and heave.

Welcome, this sharp morning blast—

Pleasure floods through me

While tears sting my eyes,

Veins fill with promised life.

Breathing, I breathe and I feel,

My skin bristles.

3

Footsteps—

It’s Abbas, dear Abbas.

I know that old shuffle,

Grey stubble, haired mole,

Yellowing teeth.

Clatter of pots in the kitchen.

He’s making some tea.

“Are you awake?” he roars.

Smells of hot peppers and onions

With cinnamon, hazelnut cake,

Baklava, sugared cream.

I rise from my bed, middle-aged,

Balding, the white scar on my arm,

Shrunken chest,

Losing more weight every year—

In thirteen, by my estimate, I’ll weigh zero.

My spindly legs stiff as I stand,

Light from the night hallway,

Red glint of my eyes.

Am I still sleeping?

I dreamed of Zafir,

Weighing the sand on the beach.

4

Abbas is muttering.

Standing, I look for my paper and pen,

Books scattered about. Inhale—

I breathe in my ancestral home,

Turquoise rough stucco and terra cotta–tiled floors,

Earth colors, arches and airy rooms,

All crumbling now. There, the tinny piano

My mother once played. Here, the brass compass.

Abbas serves breakfast,

Eats at his small bench,

Belching and smiling.

Through an arched window,

I gaze at the wide rutted steps

To the terrace and down to the sea.

Garden of aloe and sharpened spine puyas,

The dune evening primrose, the prickly white poppies,

The red bougainvilleas that wind up the walls—

Shadowy shapes in the dim light of dawn.

There, bitter orange trees,

Now smelling vanilla and powdery.

Olive groves, gift of my father,

Like everything here.

Parentless now. I was a parent myself,

Father and husband.

5

Then faintly, the call of the muezzin,

The nasalized song.

Abbas drops to the floor, praying.

I watch him and wait,

Help...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Preface
• PART I: Questions with Answers
• PART II: Questions without Answers