Classic Poem

A Plurality of Worlds

Intensities of pain—
of those once persecuted
and those once executed.

The scientific gain
belongs to us, but who knows
of Giordano Bruno’s

suffering on the square,
tongue-tied on cobble stone,
as he met fire alone?

Around him everywhere:
wine spilt amid the jeering,
grimaces and cheering,

squeals from a paederast,
smiles from thieving hawkers,
bishops, whores, and gawkers.

—“Into the Tiber, cast
his ashes! ” —could be heard,
“for every wicked word.”