The Measure of Things
Liapolianov:
You have a certain imperfection:
under the floor you hide the inch,
you make love to it like a flowery peach,
at danger's approach you screech.Friends:
We hold the inch dearer than eyesight,
it's our measure for counting,
it's our base in space,
we're warriors of rectangular figures.
We apply standards
to measures of friable fluids,
we pour mounds of tears on the ground,
we span the forehead of our neighbor,
who serves us for a hen.
Examining the form of footprint
we touch the measure with all our five.
Curious about body heat
of patients (also known as temperature),
we carry them the inch.
We make chicken from chicken soup.Liapolianov:
But physicists regard the inch
as an outdated measure.
It's far handier
to measure objects with a saber.
It also fits to measure with your feet.Professor Gettincretin:
You are mistaken, Liapolianov.
It's me that am the representative of science
and I know things better than you do.
Feet measure fields,
the saber measures the human body,
but objects are measured by the fork.Friends:
We're mere infants when it comes to science,
but we do love the inch.Liapolianov:
Death to outmoded measures!
Death to veterans of science!
Let wind drown the round islands!
Snap in half the robust meter!Carpenter:
No no,
excuse me.
I know the slanting fathom
and I don't give a damn for your inventions!
It being that the fathom
is slanting in the capacity of instrument
and capable of application
in any situation:
for instance, at the building of a house
take a fathom of weight of bricks,
plaster and straw
and the heavy hammer.Professor Gettincretin:
Here we are,
staring at the ceiling
discussing the calibration
of assorted levels of nature
undergoing transformation
from energy to basic matter,
under which we signify
even gas.Friends:
We concealed our measure.
We prefer the inch to eyesight, yes!Liapolianov:
In every little particle
in elements
in angels
in points of convergence
in flying cannonballs
in surfaces
in tensions
in pits of spiritual boredom
in bubbles of logical science,
what is it that measures objects?
It's the wedge, the beak, the fang.Professor Gettincretin:
You're mistaken, Liapolianov.
Where did you hear that nonsense:
Measure the chair with the wedge?
Measure the table with the beak?
Measure the key with the lyre?
Net the house with an oath?
We walk in science with the meter,
all you carry is a saber.Liapolianov:
Listen to how I reckon now:
There isn't any measure.
There are, instead of measure,
our thoughts encased in objects.
All the objects come alive,
making Being attractive.Friends:
Oh
we got it!
Still,
we stick to the Inch.Liapolianov:
Boneheads.Professor Gettincretin:
Ignoramuses and fools.Carpenter:
I won't be friends with you anymore.
That's all.
October 17-21, 1929
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