Dangerous Edge Poem by gershon hepner

Our interest being on the dangerous edge,
we think we’re able to see more
in truth than those whom we deplore
because they do not plumb the depths and dredge
the nuances of books in Hebrew, Greek,
and German, even English, though
we think vernacular below
our goal––the knowledge-heaven that we seek
beyond our grasp! We’re insecure
about ourselves, but as for those
who aren’t we’re somewhat bellicose,
despising them because they say they’re sure.

Inspired by Robert Browning’s “Bishop Blougram’s Apology”:
A simile!
We mortals cross the ocean of this world
Each in his average cabin of a life;
The best's not big, the worst yields elbow-room.
Now for our six months' voyage-how prepare?
You come on shipboard with a landsman's list
Of things he calls convenient: so they are!
An India screen is pretty furniture,
A piano-forte is a fine resource,
All Balzac's novels occupy one shelf,
The new edition fifty volumes long;
And little Greek books, with the funny type
They get up well at Leipsic, fill the next:
Go on! slabbed marble, what a bath it makes!
And Parma's pride, the Jerome, let us add! ..

Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things.
The honest thief, the tender murderer,
The superstitious atheist, demirep
That loves and saves her soul in new French books-
We watch while these in equilibrium keep
The giddy line midway: one step aside,
They're classed and done with. I, then, keep the line
Before your sages, -just the men to shrink
From the gross weights, coarse scales and labels broad
You offer their refinement. Fool or knave?
Why needs a bishop be a fool or knave
When there's a thousand diamond weights between?
So, I enlist them. Your picked twelve, you'll find,
Profess themselves indignant, scandalized
At thus being held unable to explain
How a superior man who disbelieves
May not believe as well: that's Schelling's way!
It's through my coming in the tail of time,
Nicking the minute with a happy tact.
Had I been born three hundred years ago…

© 2007 Gershon Hepner 10/8/07