На информационном ресурсе применяются рекомендательные технологии (информационные технологии предоставления информации на основе сбора, систематизации и анализа сведений, относящихся к предпочтениям пользователей сети "Интернет", находящихся на территории Российской Федерации)

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What We Imagine Knowledge to Be: James Gleick Reads Elizabeth Bishop

Author: Maria Popova / Source: Brain Pickings

What We Imagine Knowledge to Be: James Gleick Reads Elizabeth Bishop

“What we see, we see / and seeing is changing,” begins a verse of Adrienne Rich’s stunning science poem that opened the inaugural Universe in Verse.

This question of how we wade through the darkness of the unknown to evolve the way we see and understand the world was at the heart of a very different poem that became a highlight of the second annual Universe in Verse — “At the Fishhouses” by Elizabeth Bishop (February 8, 1911–October 6, 1979), found in her posthumously published Poems (public library). Reading it for us, with a magnificent prefatory meditation, was James Gleick — not only a science writer of that rare enchanter category, but a philosopher of science and unparalleled historian of ideas; a writer who, whether he is exploring time travel or the history of information or the life of Isaac Newton, takes the facts of things and wrests from them something larger, something more interconnected — a kind of knowledge about knowledge out of which arises the lattice of understanding we call wisdom.

What a rare privilege to have one of the greatest science writers humanity has produced read and reflect on one of the greatest poets.

AT THE FISHHOUSES
by Elizabeth Bishop

Although it is a cold evening,
down by one of the fishhouses
an old man sits netting,
his net, in the gloaming almost invisible,
a dark purple-brown,
and his shuttle worn and polished.
The air smells so strong of codfish
it makes one’s nose run and one’s eyes water.
The five fishhouses have steeply peaked roofs
and narrow, cleated gangplanks slant up
to storerooms in the gables
for the wheelbarrows to be pushed up and down on.
All is silver: the heavy surface of the sea,
swelling slowly as if considering spilling over,
is opaque, but the silver of the benches,
the lobster pots, and masts, scattered
among the wild jagged rocks,
is of an apparent translucence
like the small old buildings with an emerald moss
growing…

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