AMY BROWN
Brownian Motion
Universal restlessness begins with Brownian motion.
The inanimate moves, he notices with a shiver
of excitement. But his pollen and sphinx powder
are forgotten for many years (as happens to the dead).
The idea is suspended in a microscopic ocean until
1905. Einstein writes a beautiful paper about speed
and distance, proving the existence of atoms.
The inanimate moves, he notices with a shiver
of excitement. But his pollen and sphinx powder
are forgotten for many years (as happens to the dead).
The idea is suspended in a microscopic ocean until
1905. Einstein writes a beautiful paper about speed
and distance, proving the existence of atoms.
I am shaky in my knowledge of atoms.
A good metaphor helps me see their motion
(I remember protons and nuclei) it speeds
my understanding as does an anecdotal shiver.
I try to apply atoms to Barthes’ lexia until
it became apparent that text is not a powder
to be peered at through a lens. It isn’t dead
A good metaphor helps me see their motion
(I remember protons and nuclei) it speeds
my understanding as does an anecdotal shiver.
I try to apply atoms to Barthes’ lexia until
it became apparent that text is not a powder
to be peered at through a lens. It isn’t dead
enough. Its movement is not dead
energy but the life of minds, many atoms
making sense of complex signs. ‘Powder’
heats in relation to my emotion
and experience — cocaine, baking, baby — until
it expands with meaning. Speed
is essential if I want that shiver
energy but the life of minds, many atoms
making sense of complex signs. ‘Powder’
heats in relation to my emotion
and experience — cocaine, baking, baby — until
it expands with meaning. Speed
is essential if I want that shiver
of context racing through me. The shiver
of a poked raindrop, men scared to death,
earthquakes, horses at speed —
I know none of these are identical to atomic
jiggling. I was so ignorant until
today, when all became powder.
Room, table, window, chair —all in motion,
of a poked raindrop, men scared to death,
earthquakes, horses at speed —
I know none of these are identical to atomic
jiggling. I was so ignorant until
today, when all became powder.
Room, table, window, chair —all in motion,
in unison, flinching like tickled skin. Motion
I imagined but didn’t see, under my feet, shivering,
in my feet, of my feet, powder,
sliding serendipitously. Even the dead —
underground and remembered — moving until
everything else stops, until every speed
halts. I know little about atoms
I imagined but didn’t see, under my feet, shivering,
in my feet, of my feet, powder,
sliding serendipitously. Even the dead —
underground and remembered — moving until
everything else stops, until every speed
halts. I know little about atoms
but atoms,
I understand, are quite reliable. Motion,
too, ubiquitous. The speed
of sound and light, birds, shivering
atoms, seem stable too until
I consider history, men, baking powder —
other probabilities that let me down.
But, there are always consolations in death
I understand, are quite reliable. Motion,
too, ubiquitous. The speed
of sound and light, birds, shivering
atoms, seem stable too until
I consider history, men, baking powder —
other probabilities that let me down.
But, there are always consolations in death
to count on; our spirits down
until we notice the shivering atoms,
the motion in dead powder.
until we notice the shivering atoms,
the motion in dead powder.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amy Brown is a Wellington poet, editor and book reviewer. She was inspired to write ‘Brownian Motion’ after reading As Far As We Know, by Paul Callaghan and Kim Hill.