I AM TOLD
don’t see a Man In The Moon when looking up on a bright courtship night. They see two rabbits pounding rice. Now, dammit, all I see when looking up at a full moon is those same two blessed rabbits pounding their blasted rice.
IT’S STILL THE SAME OLD MOON
but different perspectives. Like Flecker’s star our moon also shines on the ruins of Rum (shone on me too after I’d ruined a few rums)(’nuff said).
did ‘we’ desecrate the moon when those astronauts landed there—soiling the virgin soil of zillions of years with bouncey footprints (and for all I know discarded coke bottles)?
Can our beloved moon still fill the office of romantic illuminant—
And on a sudden, lo! the level lake,
And the long glories of the winter moon …
—or are we to seek something else now? Flickering candles through glass, perhaps?
THE MOON MAY THINK
that she is just a schlogg of old rocks and dust a quarter million miles from anywhere (that’s us: we are ‘everywhere’ to some) — but to me she’s always a Goddess.
Yep. She. An ice-cold lady with long dark hair, silverine skin, clear blue eyes and the unblinking level gaze that lays bare a man’s soul.
THE ANCIENTS (not as dum as sum often fink)
seemed always to depict her as feminine—their sun was masculine—and for atavistic reasons I’m happy to accept her as she; it’s entirely natural to do so and the precedents have been long set. She.
AFTER OUR TRANSIENT
desecrationary trespass has she lost her mystery? I say no. And I don’t see that she ever will, not even when there’s a bustling military space-base or three in the misappropriately named Sea of Tranquility (complete with bowling alley and Starbucks)
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean—roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin—his control
Stops with the shore …
could we not—for just this once, if never again—keep somewhere demilitarised? Un-militarised?
Can’t be done.
Those first flights to the moon will of course contain only the basic essentials of survival, but once a viable base has been established the appropriate weapons will flood in—remember the basic rule for comfort in a large family? First up-best dressed. It will of course be the ages old competition between weapons and armour, with a modern twist.
whatever turmoil we organic pollutants pass across the face of our moon it will remain invisible to earthbound lovers holding hands in a field by night, watching two rabbits endlessly pounding rice …