Венера-7

Venera

Back in 1970 when the USA was revelling in the Glory of being the leaders in the space race because they put man on the moon, the Russians were continuing to do the extraordinary.  Well, not just the Russians.  The entire Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, the CCCP.

On this day in 1970 Venera 7 was the first human object to land on another planet.  The Venusian probe landed hard, it seems the parachute deployment failed.  Initially it was thought to be entirely dead, but the sensors were working and the tapes were recording.  The probe rolled on one side at landing and the antenna was not pointed upward for transmission.

Weeks later radio astronomers pulled 23 minutes of recording from the surface.  The probe confirmed that Venus was too hot for people and contains no liquid water.  It also confirmed that the planet was solid, because the probe landed on a solid surface.

It doesn’t sound like much, but it is in such baby steps that we build our way to the stars.

 

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Theresa May Prevail

boudica

On the birthday of William Blake here is what is probably, in England anyway, his best known poem.  It is one of the most popular and patriotic English hymns of the Anglican Church.

It is the essence of what it is to be English.  The English Rugby song is “Swing Low Sweet Chariot”.  Queen Boudica, that very embodiment of Britannia, is portrayed riding her Celtic Chariot.

As the British Parliament prepare to vote on the Brexit deal with the EU it is not the Northern Irish that matter, nor the Welsh, nor the Scots.  This is England Theresa May.  This is the time to embody England, to don the mantle of Alfred the Great.  To hell with those pesky Celts, this is an Anglo-Saxon matter.

Jerusalem: by William Blake

And did those feet in ancient time
walk upon England’s mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
on England’s pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!

I will not cease from mental fight,
nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
till we have built Jerusalem
In England’s green and pleasant land.

From The Movement

Surf

A verse on movement from Thom Gunn, who was a member of “The Movement”; a group of poets who included Ted Hughes, Philip Larkin and Kingsley Amis.

Gunn celebrates his 89th Birthday today although he is not around to mark it himself.  Born the year of the Wall Street Crash in 1929 he passed away in 2004 just before the latest Stock Market collapse.  A man who spans two great depressions.

From the wave; by Thom Gunn

It mounts at sea, a concave wall
down-ribbed with shine,
and pushes forward, building tall
its steep incline.

Then from their hiding rise to sight
black shapes on boards
bearing before the fringe of white
it mottles towards.

Their pale feet curled, they poise their weight
with a learn’d skill.
It is the wave they imitate
keeps them so still.

The marbling bodies have become
half wave, half men,
grafted it seems by feet of foam
some seconds, then,

late as they can, they slice the face
in timed procession:
balance is triumph in this place,
triumph possession.

The mindless heave of which they rode
a fluid shelf
breaks as they leave it, falls and, slowed,
loses itself.

Clear, the sheathed bodies slick as seals
loosen and tingle;
and by the board the bare foot feels
the suck of shingle.

They paddle in the shallows still;
two splash each other;
they all swim out to wait until
the right waves gather.

What are you about, Food or Money?

joyce-carolo-oates

Born this day in 1938 the multi award winning novelist and short story writer also pens sharply insightful poetry.  Her stereotype view of men and women below is all the funnier for her surname.

Women Whose Lives are Food, Men Whose Lives are Money; by Joyce Carol Oates

-o0o-
Mid-morning Monday she is staring
peaceful as the rain in that shallow back yard
she wears flannel bedroom slippers
she is sipping coffee
she is thinking—
—gazing at the weedy bumpy yard
at the faces beginning to take shape
in the wavy mud
in the linoleum
where floorboards assert themselves

Women whose lives are food
breaking eggs with care
scraping garbage from the plates
unpacking groceries hand over hand

Wednesday evening: he takes the cans out front
tough plastic with detachable lids
Thursday morning: the garbage truck whining at 7
Friday the shopping mall open till 9
bags of groceries unpacked
hand over certain hand

Men whose lives are money
time-and-a-half Saturdays
the lunchbag folded with care and brought back home
unfolded Monday morning

Women whose lives are food
because they are not punch-carded
because they are unclocked
sighing glad to be alone
staring into the yard, mid-morning
mid-week
by mid-afternoon everything is forgotten

There are long evenings
panel discussions on abortions, fashions, meaningful work
there are love scenes where people mouth passions
sprightly, handsome, silly, manic
in close-ups revealed ageless
the women whose lives are food
the men whose lives are money
fidget as these strangers embrace and weep and mis-
understand and forgive and die and weep and embrace
and the viewers stare and fidget and sigh and
begin yawning around 10:30
never made it past midnight, even on Saturdays,
watching their braven selves perform

Where are the promised revelations?
Why have they been shown so many times?
Long-limbed children a thousand miles to the west
hitch-hiking in spring, burnt bronze in summer
thumbs nagging
eyes pleading
Give us a ride, huh? Give us a ride?

and when they return nothing is changed
the linoleum looks older
the Hawaiian Chicken is new
the girls wash their hair more often
the boys skip over the puddles
in the GM parking lot
no one eyes them with envy

their mothers stoop
the oven doors settle with a thump
the dishes are rinsed and stacked and
by mid-morning the house is quiet
it is raining out back
or not raining
the relief of emptiness rains
simple, terrible, routine
at peace

-o0o-