November 29, 2024The Astronomical Clock
Prague, Spring, 1968
First, sit near the Oriel Chapel
or at the statue feet of Jan Hus
where the heretics rise tall
as wax in flames of greening bronze.
There, you’ll listen to the Mozart menuetto
from the House of the Stone Bell
where thousands stood once, stiff as clock
stems in the Prague spring, cheering
to the symphony of Smetana’s My Country.
You’ll marvel at the medieval Orloj clock
as it chimes the hour’s song
across Old Town Square. There on its wall,
the skeleton of Death pulls a chain
up, then round, to shake the crowned
heads of Vanity and Greed. Beneath
its skeletal arm, a Turk wags a pouch of coins.
An hourglass turns sideways down.
Listen, as the tourists draw in breath,
like Danes to the stone of Tycho Brahe,
on cue, with hands above their eyes,
sycophants to the clock’s theater
of changing time, the astronomical
trust in earth’s inspired motion.
Now, don’t fail to heed the Walk
of the Apostles, posing like saintly saviors,
spiraling in procession past the windows
at the clock’s summit. Daily they parade
their disguise as dancing imps, all wood
and ruthlessly wise, to keep the sun and moon
together, like two warring nations
passionately clinging each to their lost history.
Above the dance, a cockerel flaps
its wings and caws for separation.
for Alan
—from Rattle #85, Fall 2024