Tuesday Poem: And yet it moves, by Helen Heath

And yet it moves                                  Galileo Galilei (1564-1642)





you say of the earth

      - not the sun around us.



You cannot close your eyes

to the view at the end



of the eyeglass. Faith

is not a veil. Eyes drawn



to the stars, the suns, again

and again for years until



they burn through your lenses

twin black holes, one for each eye.



The dark slowly spreads.

The inquisition judges heresy,



commands a recant, wants blind

allegiance from a man in the dark



so you recant, muttering

and yet it moves.



Credit note: "And yet it moves" was published in Helen Heath's collection Graft (VUP, 2012) and is reproduced here by permission of the author.



Tim says: I've just finished reading Graft, and while I enjoyed the whole collection, the highlight for me was a number of wonderful poems about science, scientists and the history of science - other include the prizewinning Making tea in the universe and Night's Magic. This poem about Galileo Galilei elegantly captures the great dilemma of his life.



The Tuesday Poem: You can read the hub Tuesday poem on the Tuesday Poem blog, and all the other Tuesday Poems are linked from the sidebar to the left.You can buy books by Tim Jones online! Voyagers: SF Poetry from NZ from Amazon.Transported (short story collection) from Fishpond or New Zealand Books Abroad.