Poetry of (Last) Week: The Old Astronomer

Last Wednesday was May 25th, which is, in addition to a day of remembrance and lilacs,* my father's birthday. Whenever I'm describing my dad, my most frequent description is "Like me, but older and taller." We think alike and always have, from early days of competitive pedantry to our current tech careers. He's the person to blame for my expressions of affection through sarcasm, my occasional befuddlement with the human race, my sense of honor, and my constant striving to be a better, more accomplished, and more creative human being.

That said, I skew more fantasy to his science-fiction, and when I asked him last week about his favorite poems or poets, he couldn't name any. Not so much his thing. But I think he'd enjoy "The Old Astronomer", even if it isn't a particularly happy birthday poem. So several days and my own birthday later, here's a repeat of one of my favorites, for him:

The Old Astronomer

Reach me down my Tycho Brahé, – I would know him when we meet,
When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet;
He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how
We are working to completion, working on from then to now.

Pray remember that I leave you all my theory complete,
Lacking only certain data for your adding, as is meet,
And remember men will scorn it, ‘tis original and true,
And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you.

But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learned the worth of scorn,
You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn,
What for us are all distractions of men’s fellowship and wiles;
What for us the Goddess Pleasure with her meretricious smiles.

You may tell that German College that their honor comes too late,
But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant’s fate.
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

What, my boy, you are not weeping? You should save your eyes for sight;
You will need them, mine observer, yet for many another night.
I leave none but you, my pupil, unto whom my plans are known.
You “have none but me,” you murmur, and I “leave you quite alone”?

Well then, kiss me, – since my mother left her blessing on my brow,
There has been a something wanting in my nature until now;
I can dimly comprehend it, – that I might have been more kind,
Might have cherished you more wisely, as the one I leave behind.

I “have never failed in kindness”? No, we lived too high for strife,–
Calmest coldness was the error which has crept into our life;
But your spirit is untainted, I can dedicate you still
To the service of our science: you will further it? you will!

There are certain calculations I should like to make with you,
To be sure that your deductions will be logical and true;
And remember, “Patience, Patience,” is the watchword of a sage,
Not to-day nor yet to-morrow can complete a perfect age.

I have sown, like Tycho Brahé, that a greater man may reap;
But if none should do my reaping, 'twill disturb me in my sleep
So be careful and be faithful, though, like me, you leave no name;
See, my boy, that nothing turn you to the mere pursuit of fame.

I must say Good-bye, my pupil, for I cannot longer speak;
Draw the curtain back for Venus, ere my vision grows too weak:
It is strange the pearly planet should look red as fiery Mars,–
God will mercifully guide me on my way amongst the stars.



* This is a Discworld reference. If you haven't already, I highly recommending reading the Guards plotline of Discworld novels.**
** Honestly, I recommend reading most Discworld novels, and should actually post a lengthy description here of some of my favorites some day.

Tea Highlights: Pu-erh

I tend to remember my first encounters with new teas. Lapsang souchong at that ice cream cafe in my college town. Hojicha at a tea garden in San Francisco (visited in honor of the October Daye series). And a strange, rich tea labeled pu-erh at a coffee shop two doors down from my old apartment. The last was particularly surprising because all the coffee shops in my area serve the same brand of local teas, so you rarely see anything different or new. But there one morning, next to all the familiar labels, was a hand-written scrawl that didn't look like any tea I'd ever heard of. So I ordered it, and within minutes lapsang had its first true contest for my affections.

Pu-erh is a fermented and aged tea from the Yunnan province. It's usually sold in pressed bricks or cakes, and labeled with a year, though what with increased popularity, there are a variety of ways and processes different groups use to hasten the aging process, including leaving it loose. I'm still new enough that I can't talk in depth about most of this, but I will say that the bricked and labeled pu-erh I've had is far richer and more worthwhile than the loose. That said, it's also more expensive. Trade offs. If you'd like to know more about the process and history and variants (and really, who wouldn't?) the Wikipedia article is surprisingly in depth.

After that initial taste at the coffee shop, I went to my old pal Upton Teas and bought a box of pu-erh bricks that I hoarded and carefully doled out over the course of a year. I've also bought bricks from Peet's, which I used in my initial attempts at blending. But the former is no longer available and the latter has undergone some changes, so I can't speak to its current state. Instead, I'll talk to you about the three types I have in my house at the moment:

From the top left clockwise around, that's MEM Tea's loose pu-erh, pu-erh tuo cha (compressed cakes) from Upton, and "sticky rice" tuo cha also from Upton. The MEM tea is currently sold out, and I no longer remember how much it cost per ounce, but both of the Upton cakes were about $10 for 125g, which works out to something around 4.4 ounces or ~35 cakes. (So 70ish cups of tea, since a cake is good for two cups.)

The characteristic taste of pu-erh is "earthy," and that's about all you'll get from the MEM tea blend. If you've had pu-erh before, it clearly tastes like the bare minimum of what a pu-erh should be, and if you haven't, you'll taste soft, sweet, smoothness, which you may be tempted to compare to chocolate, and which never oversteeps or acquires the acerbic bitterness of most teas.

The Upton tea (not the sticky rice, we'll get to that) in comparison tastes of rich forest loam in late summer, filled with life and decay. And I know that doesn't sound like a selling point, but give it a taste some time if you can and see what I mean. This one is everything I love and want from a pu-erh, and the reason I can't give you an exact count on how many cakes came with it is because I'm not certain how many I've already had.

The sticky rice one I bought out of curiosity, and it is fascinating. Apparently there's an herb that's occasionally blended into pu-erh that smells of sticky rice, and, well, that's definitely the flavor that got added. On top of the rich earthy pu-erh, these cakes have a savory rice flavor. A lot like genmaicha, but without some of the roasty popcorn flavor that I often encounter in the green tea. It's...good? It's fascinating, for sure, and I find I'm most inclined to drink it with hearty, savory meals, but I probably won't get it again.

For blending, I've seen pu-erh paired with chocolate to great effect, but there's almost too much overlap there if that's all you're adding. I prefer to mix in sharper flavors. The mint from my Death blend and the basil from Witch's Brew, for example. Witch's Brew was particularly fun because it played up the vegetal flavors I love so much. And of course I add cinnamon to everything, but in the case of pu-erh I find it enhances the warm late season coziness that makes pu-erh a go-to comfort tea for me.

In the end, pu-erh and lapsang souchong are such inherently different teas that I see no reason to compare them, and they share the title of my favorite tea, as well as, unsurprisingly enough, the teas I most often foist on and recommend to others.

Poetry of the Week: Pablo Neruda

My week has been bookended by the weddings of dear friends. One of my oldest friends in the world said her vows under a flower crown last Saturday, beaming up at her now husband, and in two days I'll stand beside two more friends as they pledge themselves to each other. Given that, love poetry seems the only option this week, and I know of few love poems as beautiful as Pablo Neruda's. 

But my mind is also dark and wandering at the moment, so I'll share a poem for that, as well.

Sonnet XVII

No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio

o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:

te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,

secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva

dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,

y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo

el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.

Te amo sin saber como, ni cuándo, ni de donde,

te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:

así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,

sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,

tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,

tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.

Translation by Mark Eisner

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,       

or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:          

I love you as one loves certain obscure things,   

secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries     

the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself, 

and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose         

from the earth lives dimly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where

I love you directly without problems or pride:    

I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,

except in this form in which I am not nor are you,

so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,

so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

Sonnet VI

En los bosques, perdido, corté una rama oscura 

y a los labios, sediento, levanté su susurro: 

era tal vez la voz de la lluvia llorando, 

una campana rota o un corazón cortado. 

Algo que desde tan lejos me parecía 

oculto gravemente, cubierto por la tierra, 

un grito ensordecido por inmensos otoños, 

por la entreabierta y húmeda tiniebla de las hojas. 

Pero allí, despertando de los sueños del bosque, 

la rama de avellano cantó bajo mi boca 

y su errabundo olor trepó por mi criterio 

como si me buscaran de pronto las raíces 

que abandoné, la tierra perdida con mi infancia, 

y me detuve herido por el aroma errante.

Translation by Gustavo Escobedo

In the forests, lost, I cut a dark branch

and to my lips, thirsty, I lifted its whisper:

it was perhaps the voice of the rain crying,

a broken bell or a torn heart.

Something which from so far seemed to me

gravely hidden, covered by the earth,

a scream deafened by immense autumns,

by the half open and moist darkness of the leaves.

But there, awaking from the dreams of the forest,

the branch of the hazel tree sang under my mouth

and its wandering smell climbed through my mind

as if suddenly the roots I had abandoned

were searching for me, the land lost with my childhood,

and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

Poetry of the Week - Lines Inscribed Upon a Cup Formed from a Skull

My apologies for vanishing off the map for a couple of weeks. Work picked up at the same time that the LARP I've been preparing for for years finally debuted. This month will likely be busy as well, with work and weddings and a renewed commitment to everything I put off in the interim (most notably words and swords), but posts should resume their usual schedules.

In honor of another LARP, which is having its final event this upcoming weekend, I present my favorite of all of Byron's poetry, and a gem I think everyone should know exists:

Lines Inscribed Upon a Cup Formed from a Skull - Lord Byron
Start not—nor deem my spirit fled:
   In me behold the only skull
From which, unlike a living head,
   Whatever flows is never dull.

I lived, I loved, I quaff’d, like thee:
   I died: let earth my bones resign;
Fill up—thou canst not injure me;
   The worm hath fouler lips than thine.

Better to hold the sparkling grape,
   Than nurse the earth-worm’s slimy brood;
And circle in the goblet’s shape
   The drink of Gods, than reptiles’ food.

Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
   In aid of others’ let me shine;
And when, alas! our brains are gone,
   What nobler substitute than wine?

Quaff while thou canst—another race,
   When thou and thine like me are sped,
May rescue thee from earth’s embrace,
   And rhyme and revel with the dead.

Why not? since through life’s little day
   Our heads such sad effects produce;
Redeem’d from worms and wasting clay,
   This chance is theirs, to be of use.


Stay safe, friends. Good luck with your time travel and god troubles! I hope to hear stories after.