Dans la vie intérieure, le temps tient lieu d’espace.
(In the inner life, time takes the place of space.)
Simone Weil, La Pesanteur et la Grâce
(Gravity and Grace)
Inside [the black hole’s horizon] … [what used to be a spatial coordinate] is the time … The singularity … is not a place in space; it is a moment in time.
James B. Hartle, Gravity
In my old poems was
The sentimental one
Scenting sighs, seeing scars
Everywhere, twisting them
Into words, squeezing words
So they fit in a grid,
Preoccupied, she wanted the answer
To the only question: What had made her
Like this? An effect that sought the cause and
Nothing else. Her city caught in a verdant
Early summer day; light abounded; she
Felt time had been running out silently.
How much has really changed ever since?
I now have an answer, and more:
She made me; cause, effect. Questions!
How will I be? What will I be?
And what am I?
I’m a tiny bit of what she was not:
The all-embracing space and time beyond
Her self, her fear of being forgotten,
Solitude unwitnessed, and pain futile.
I’m not merely her descendant either.
Holding her precious gift of exposed soul,
I too am exposed to what I am not,
Asking how much has changed, what I’m changing.
in original form c. 2018