The Baggage of a Poem

Over some past weeks I published some rafts of a poem, showing how its words, form and meaning gradually emerged from  the clutter of my mind.

Today I discovered the origin of the central image of the space ladder, the idea of which I first encountered some years ago. 

The Ladder

My friend, who, once a student, left me far behind ten years ago,

Is working on the ladder.

Mostly he's sitting in Toronto

Figuring with Math I can't begin to understand,

The kind of calculus that begins with the speed of the speed

And flies with Einstein across the springy space matrix thing

To a place where Math flips sideways

And tumbles light-like into the night.

This ladder is a strange one, more a cable

Carbon fibre, anchored to the Earth.

It rises like the beanstalk that defeated Jack,

A hundred miles straight up.

We'll get into the elevator, press the key

And read our favorite books

Until we reach, so slowly

The space platform, stretch ourselves, and disembark. 

Years later - ?ten, fifteen? this emerged in:

Elevation

My carbon fibre beanstalk 

Climbs up to the giants 

Brooding beyond the clouds.

I am a flourish of Nature

The momentum of the moment

Tied to the globe with gossamer thread

A string that plays one note

Rising from the fiery wells

Through slowly thinning air

The heartbeat of the world

Vibrates into silence.

I reach geostation

In the shadow of the Earth

A sign of intelligent life

Tethered to my little box of warmth

Floating in a cold sky.

Now I am held in the angels' path

The wind of lights

The curtains of the north

At the pause of gravity.

From the plenitude of stars

Great eyes may be upon us -

Are we common, rare, unique?

My one eye is open,

Plumbs beyond the shadow,

Casting lines of sight

Back, back through the deeps of space and time.