kkokkolis

Γρηγοριανό τηλεσκόπιο, Kunitomo Tobei, 1830

Εσύ έχεις δίκιο. Δεν υπάρχει σώμα που να μην περιστρέφεται γύρω από τον εαυτό του. Ακόμη και ο ήλιος περιστρέφεται.

Συζητήσεις επί του πλήθους των Κόσμων, Bernard le Bouyer Fontenelle, 1686

Εικόνες από δύο ημισφαίρια, Babak Tafreshi, 2009 APOD 15-1-10

To the Moon, John Brainard, 1796-1828 Bless thy bright face! though often blessed before By raving maniac and by pensive fool; One would say something more-- but who as yet, When looking at thee in the deep blue sky, Could tell the poorest thought that struck his heart? Yet all have tried, and all have tried in vain. At thee, poor planet, is the first attempt That the young rhymster ventures. And the sigh The boyish lover heaves, is at the Moon. Bards, who -- ere Milton sung or Shakspeare played The dirge of sorrow, or the song of love, Bards, who had higher soared than Fesole, Knew better of the Moon. 'T was there they found Vain thoughts, lost hopes, and fancy's happy dreams, And all sweet sounds, such as have fled afar From waking discords, and from daylight jars. There Ariosto puts the widow's weeds When she, new wedded, smiles abroad again, And there the sad maid's innocence -- 't is there That broken vows and empty promises, All good intentions, with no answering deed To anchor them on the substantial earth, Are shrewdly packed. -- And could he think that thou, So bright, so pure of aspect, so serene, Art the mere storehouse of our faults and crimes? I'd rather think as puling rhymsters think, O; love-sick maidens fancy -- Yea, prefer The dairy notion that thou art but cheese, Green cheese --than thus misdoubt thy honest face.

Dollond, 1843

Η Χαμένη Πλειάδα, William Adolph Bouguereau, 1884 Ελαιογραφία

Μερόπη, η Χαμένη Πλειάδα, Randolph Rogers, 1875 Μάρμαρο Μουσείο Μπρούκλυν

The Lost Pleiad, John Brainard, 1796-1828 O! How calm and how beautiful--look at the night! The planets are wheeling in pathways of light; And the lover, or poet, with heart, or with eye, Sends his gaze with a tear, or his soul with a sigh. But from Fesole's summit the Tuscan looked forth, To eastward and westward, to south and to north; Neither planet nor star could his vision delight, 'Till his own bright Pleiades should rise to his sight. They rose, and he numbered their glittering train -- They shone bright as he counted them over again; But the star of his love, the bright gem of the cluster, Arose not to lend the Pleiades its lustre. And thus, when the splendor of beauty has blazed, On light and on loveliness, how have we gazed! And how sad have we turned from the sight, when we found That the fairest and sweetest was "not on the ground."

Τηλεσκόπιο τσέπης Dollond, 1775 Ένα κόσμημα από ταρταρούγα και ασήμι

Lunokhod 1, 1970 Το χαμένο κάτοπτρο του Luna 17 που βρέθηκε πρόσφατα Από το γραφείο Lavochkin, σχεδιαστή των περίφημων αεροσκαφών του Β' Παγκοσμίου Πολέμου APOD 6-6-10

Ιταλικό τρομπετόσχημο διοπτρικό, 1630

Παρατηρητήριο Theodore Jacobsen, 1895 Σήατλ, ΗΠΑ

Sky Mirror, Anish Kapoor, 2006

The Night Has A Thousand Eyes, Francis W. Bourdillon, 1852 – 1921 The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done.

Αρτ Νουβώ, Rockefeller Center, Νέα Υόρκη, 1930

Άτλας, Rockefeller Center, Νέα Υόρκη, 1930

Tabulae Rudolphinae: quibus astronomicae, Johannes Kepler, 1571–1630

Τηλεσκόπιο Gardam, 19ος αιώνας

The More Loving One, W.H. Auden, 1957 Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast. How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me. Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day. Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total darkness sublime, Though this might take me a little time.

Ιαπωνικά διοπτρικά, 18ος αιώνας Το μεσαίο από τον μεγάλο Zenbei Iwahashi του οποίου το όνομα φέρει ο αστεροειδής 7538 Zenbei

Παρατηρητήριο Washburn, Ουϊσκόνσιν, 1881 Η κάρτα το απεικονίζει πριν και μετά την καταστροφή από τυφώνα.

Zeiss 20-24x200, 1942-1945 Πατήρ πάντων πόλεμος

The Elephant in the Moon, Samuel Butler, 1612-1680 A learn'd society of late, The glory of a foreign state, Agreed, upon a summer's night, To search the Moon by her own light; To take an invent'ry of all Her real estate and personal; And Make an accurate survey Of all her lands, and how they lay, As true as that of Ireland, where The sly surveyors stole a shire: T' observe her country, how 'twas planted, With what sh' abounded most, or wanted; And make the proper'st observations For settling of new plantations, If the Society should incline T' attempt so glorious a design. This was the purpose of their meeting, For which they chose a time as fitting, When, at the full, her radiant light And influence too were at their height. And now the lofty tube, the scale With which they heav'n itself assail, Was mounted full against the Moon, And all stood ready to fall on: Impatient who should have the honour To plant an ensign first upon her. When one, who for his deep belief Was virtuoso then in chief, Approv'd the most profound, and wise, To solve impossibilities, Advancing gravely, to apply To th' optic glass his judging eye, Cry'd, Strange !then reinforc'd his sight Against the Moon with all his might, And bent his penetrating brow, As if he meant to gaze her through; When all the rest began t' admire, And, like a train, from him took fire, Surpris'd with wonder, beforehand, At what they did not understand, Cry'd out, impatient to know what The matter was they wonder'd at. Quoth he, Th' inhabitants o' th' Moon, Who, when the Sun shines hot at noon, Do live in cellars under ground, Of eight miles deep and eighty round, (In which at once they fortify Against the sun and th' enemy), Which they count towns and cities there, Because their people 's civiler Than those rude peasants that are found To live upon the upper ground, Call'd Privolvans, with whom they are Perpetually in open war; And now both armies, highly' enrag'd, Are in a bloody fight engag'd, And many fall on both sides slain, As by the glass 'tis clear and plain. Look quickly then, that every one May see the fight before 'tis done. With that a great philosopher, Admir'd and famous far and near, As one of singular invention, But universal comprehension, Apply'd one eye, and half a nose, Unto the optic engine close: For he had lately undertook To prove, and publish in a book, That men, whose nat'ral eyes are out, May, by more pow'rful art, be brought To see with th' empty holes, as plain, As if their eyes were in again; And if they chanc'd to fail of those, To make an optic of a nose, As clearly' it may, by those that wear But spectacles, be made appear, By which both senses being united, Does render them much better sighted. This great man, having fixt both sights To view the formidable fights, Observ'd his best, and then cry'd out, The battle 's desperately fought; The gallant Subvolvani rally, And from their trenches make a sally Upon the stubborn enemy, Who now begin to rout and fly. These silly ranting Privolvans Have every summer their campaigns, And muster, like the warlike sons Of Raw-head and of Bloody-bones, As numerous as Soland geese I' th' islands of the Orcades, Courageously to make a stand, And face their neighbours hand to hand, Until the long'd-for winter's come, And then return in triumph home, And spend the rest o' th' year in lies, And vap'ring of their victories. From th' old Arcadians they 're believ'd To be, before the Moon, deriv'd, And, when her orb was new created, To people her were thence translated: For as th' Arcadians were reputed Of all the Grecians the most stupid, Whom nothing in the world could bring To civil life but fiddleing, They still retain the antique course And custom of their ancestors, And always sing and fiddle to Things of the greatest weight they do. While thus the learn'd man entertains Th' assembly with the Privolvans, Another, of as great renown, And solid judgment, in the Moon, That understood her various soils, And which produc'd best genet-moyles, And in the register of fame Had enter'd his long-living name, After he had por'd long and hard I' th' engine, gave a start, and star'd Quoth he, A stranger sight appears Than e'er was seen in all the spheres! A wonder more unparallel'd, Than ever mortal tube beheld; An elephant from one of those Two mighty armies is broke loose, And with the horror of the fight Appears amaz'd, and in a fright: Look quickly, lest the sight of us Should cause the startled beast t' imboss. It is a large one, far more great Than e'er was bred in Afric yet From which we boldly may infer The Moon is much the fruitfuller. And since the mighty Pyrrhus brought Those living castles first, 'tis thought, Against the Romans, in the field, It may an argument be held, (Arcadia being but a piece, As his dominions were, of Greece,) To prove what this illustrious person Has made so noble a discourse on, And amply satisfy'd us all Of th' Privolvans' original. That Elephants are in the Moon, Though we had now discover'd none, Is easily made manifest, Since, from the greatest to the least, All other stars and constellations Have cattle of all sorts of nations, And heaven, like a Tartar's horde, With great and numerous droves is stor'd: And if the Moon produce by Nature A people of so vast a stature, 'Tis consequent she should bring forth Far greater beasts, too, than the earth, (As by the best accounts appears Of all our great'st discoverers), And that those monstrous creatures there Are not such rarities as here. Meanwhile the rest had had a sight Of all particulars o' th' fight, And ev'ry man, with equal care, Perus'd of th' Elephant his share, Proud of his int'rest in the glory Of so miraculous a story; When one, who for his excellence In height'ning words, and shad'wing sense, And magnifying all he writ With curious microscopic wit, Was magnify'd himself no less In home and foreign colleges, Began, transported with the twang Of his own trill, thus t' harangue. Most excellent and virtuous Friends, This great discov'ry makes amends For all our unsuccessful pains, And lost expense of time and brains: For by this sole phenomenon We've gotten ground upon the Moon, And gain'd a pass to hold dispute With all the planets that stand out; To carry this most virtuous war Home to the door of every star, And plant th' artillery of our tubes Against their proudest magnitudes; To stretch our victories beyond Th' extent of planetary ground, And fix our engines, and our ensigns, Upon the fixt stars' vast dimensions, (Which Archimede, so long ago, Durst not presume to wish to do), And prove if they are other suns, As some have held opinions, Or windows in the empyreum, From whence those bright effluvias come Like flames of fire (as others guess) That shine i' the mouths of furnaces. Nor is this all we have achiev'd, But more, henceforth to be believ'd, And have no more our best designs, Because they're ours, believ'd ill signs. T' out-throw, and stretch, and to enlarge, Shall now no more be laid t' our charge; Nor shall our ablest virtuosos Prove arguments for coffee-houses; Nor those devices that are laid Too truly on us, nor those made Hereafter, gain belief among Our strictest judges, right or wrong; Nor shall our past misfortunes more Be charged upon the ancient score; No more our making old dogs young Make men suspect us still i' th' wrong; Nor new-invented chariots draw The boys to course us without law; Nor putting pigs t' a bitch to nurse, To turn them into mongrel-curs, Make them suspect our skulls are brittle, And hold too much wit or too little; tenor shall our speculations, whether An elder-stick will save the leather Of school-boys' breeches from the rod, Make all we do appear as odd, This one discovery's enough To take all former scandals off But since the world's incredulous Of all our scrutinies, and us, And with a prejudice prevents Our best and worst experiments, :so (As if th' were destin'd to miscarry, In consort try'd, or solitary), And since it is uncertain when Such wonders will occur agen, Let us as cautiously contrive To draw an exact Narrative Of what we every one can swear Our eyes themselves have seen appear, That, when we publish the Account, We all may take our oaths upon 't. This said, they all with one consent Agreed to draw up th' Instrument, And, for the general satisfaction, To print it in the next 'Transaction.' But whilst the chiefs were drawing up This strange Memoir o th' telescope, One, peeping in the tube by chance, Beheld the Elephant advance, And from the west side of the Moon To th' east was in a moment gone. This being related, gave a stop To what the rest were drawing up; And every man, amazed anew How it could possibly be true, That any beast should run a race So monstrous, in so short a space, Resolv'd, howe'er, to make it good, At least as possible as he could, And rather his own eyes condemn, Than question what he had seen with them. While all were thus resolv'd, a man Of great renown there thus began 'Tis strange, I grant ! but who can say What cannot be, what can, and may ? Especially at so hugely vast A distance as this wonder's plac'd, Where the least error of the sight May shew things false, but never right; Nor can we try them, so far off, By any sublunary proof: For who can say that Nature there Has the same laws she goes by here ? Nor is it like she has infus'd, In every species there produc'd, The same efforts she does confer Upon the same productions here; Since those with us, of several nations, Have such prodigious variations, And she affects so much to use Variety in all she does. Hence may b' inferr'd that, though I grant We'ave seen i' th' Moon an Elephant, That Elephant may differ so From those upon the earth below, Both in his bulk, and force, and speed, As being of a different breed, That though our own are but slow-pac'd, Theirs there may fly, or run as fast, And yet be Elephants, no less Than those of Indian pedigrees. This said, another of great worth, Fam'd for his learned works put forth, Look'd wise, then saidAll this is true, And learnedly observ'd by you; But there 's another reason for 't, That falls but very little short Of mathematic demonstration, Upon an accurate calculation, And that isAs the earth and moon Do both move contrary upon Their axes, the rapidity Of both their motions cannot be But so prodigiously fast, That vaster spaces may be past In less time than the beast has gone, Though h' had no motion of his own, Which we can take no measure of, As you have clear'd by learned proof. This granted, we may boldly thence Lay claim t'a nobler inference, And make this great phenomenon, (Were there no other), serve alone To clear the grand hypothesis Of th' motion of the earth from this. With this they all were satisfy'd, As men are wont o' th' bias'd side, Applauded the profound dispute, And grew more gay and resolute, By having overcome all doubt, Than if it never had fallen out; And, to complete their Narrative, Agreed t' insert this strange retrieve. But while they were diverted all With wording the Memorial, The foot-boys, for diversion too, As having nothing else to do, Seeing the telescope at leisure, Turn'd virtuosos for their pleasure; Began to gaze upon the Moon, As those they waited on had done, With monkeys' ingenuity, That love to practice what they see; When one, whose turn it was to peep, Saw something in the engine creep, And, viewing well, discover'd more Than all the learn'd had done before. Quoth he, A little thing is slunk Into the long star-gazing trunk, And now is gotten down so nigh, I have him just against mine eye. This being overheard by one Who was not so far overgrown In any virtuous speculation, To judge with mere imagination, Immediately he made a guess At solving all appearances, A way far more significant Than all their hints of th' Elephant, And found, upon a second view, His own hypothesis most true; For he had scarce apply'd his eye To th' engine, but immediately He found a mouse was gotten in The hollow tube, and, shut between The two glass windows in restraint, Was swell'd into an Elephant, And prov'd the virtuous occasion Of all this learned dissertation: And, as a mountain heretofore Was great with child, they say, and bore A silly mouse; this mouse, as strange, Brought forth a mountain in exchange. Meanwhile the rest in consultation Had penn'd the wonderful Narration, And set their hands, and seals, and wit, T' attest the truth of what they'd writ, When this accurs'd phenomenon Confounded all they'd said or done: For 'twas no sooner hinted at, But th' all were in a tumult strait, More furiously enrag'd by far, Than those that in the Moon made war, To find so admirable a hint, When they had all agreed t' have seen 't, And were engag'd to make it out, Obstructed with a paltry doubt: When one, whose task was to determine, And solve th' appearances of vermin, Who'd made profound discoveries In frogs, and toads, and rats, and mice, (Though not so curious, 'tis true, As many a wise rat-catcher knew), After he had with signs made way For something great he had to say; This disquisition Is, half of it, in my discission; For though the Elephant, as beast, Belongs of right to all the rest, The mouse, being but a vermin, none Has title to but I alone; And therefore hope I may be heard, In my own province, with regard. It is no wonder we're cry'd down, And made the talk of all the Town, That rants and swears, for all our great Attempts, we have done nothing yet, If every one have leave to doubt, When some great secret's half made out; And, 'cause perhaps it is not true, Obstruct, and ruin all we do. As no great act was ever done, Nor ever can, with truth alone, If nothing else but truth w' allow, 'Tis no great matter what we do: For truth is too reserv'd, and nice, T' appear in mix'd societies; Delights in solit'ry abodes, And never shows herself in crowds; A sullen little thing, below All matters of presence and show; That deal in novelty and change, Not of things true, but rare and strange, To treat the world with what is fit And proper to its natural wit: The world, that never sets esteem On what things are, but what they seem, And, if they be not strange and new, They're ne'er the better for being true; For what has mankind gain'd by knowing His little truth, but his undoing, Which wisely was by nature hidden, And only for his good forbidden ? And therefore with great prudence does The world still strive to keep it close; For if all secret truths were known, Who would not be once more undone ? For truth has always danger in 't, And here, perhaps, may cross some hint We have already agreed upon, And vainly frustrate all we've done, Only to make new work for Stubs, And all the academic clubs. How much, then, ought we have a care That no man know above his share, Nor dare to understand, henceforth, More than his contribution's worth; That those who've purchas'd of the college A share, or half a share, of knowledge, And brought in none, but spent repute, Should not b' admitted to dispute, Nor any man pretend to know More than his dividend comes to ? For partners have been always known To cheat their public interest prone; And if we do not look to ours, 'Tis sure to run the self-same course. This said, the whole assembly allow'd The doctrine to be right and good, And, from the truth of what they'd heard, Resolv'd to give Truth no regard, But what was for their turn to vouch, And either find or make it such: That 'twas more noble to create Things like Truth, out of strong conceit, Than with vexatious pains and doubt, To find, or think t' have found, her out. This being resolv'd, they, one by one, Review'd the tube, the Mouse, and Moon; But still the narrower they pry'd, The more they were unsatisfy'd, In no one thing they saw agreeing, As if they'd several faiths of seeing. Some swore, upon a second view, That all they'd seen before was true; And that they never would recant One syllable of th' Elephant; Avow'd his snout could be no Mouse's, But a true Elephant's proboscis. Others began to doubt and waver, Uncertain which o' th' two to favour, And knew not whether to espouse The cause of th' Elephant or Mouse. Some held no way so orthodox To try it, as the ballot-box, And, like the nation's patriots, To find, or make, the truth by votes: Others conceiv'd it much more fit T' unmount the tube, and open it, And, for their private satisfaction, To re-examine the ' Transaction,' And after explicate the rest, As they should find cause for the best. To this, as th' only expedient, The whole assembly gave consent, But, ere the tube was half let down, It clear'd the first phenomenon: For, at the end, prodigious swarms Of flies and gnats, like men in arms, Had all past muster, by mischance, Both for the Sub- and Pri-volvans. This being discover'd, put them all Into a fresh and fiercer brawl, Asham'd that men so grave and wise Should be chaldes'd by gnats and flies, And take the feeble insects' swarms For mighty troops of men at arms; As vain as those who, when the Moon Bright in a crystal river shone, Threw casting-nets as subtly at her, To catch and pull her out o' th' water. But when they had unscrew'd the glass, To find out where th' impostor was, And saw the Mouse, that, by mishap, Had made the telescope a trap, Amaz'd, confounded, and afflicted, To be so openly convicted, Immediately they get them gone, With this discovery alone: That those who greedily pursue Things wonderful, instead of true; That in their speculations choose To make discoveries strange news; And natural history a Gazette Of tales stupendous and far-fet; Hold no truth worthy to be known, That is not huge and overgrown, And explicate appearances, Not as they are, but as they please; In vain strive Nature to suborn, And, for their pains, are paid with scorn. Samuel Butler. 1612-1680

Στήριξη Brashear, 1900 Στερεοσκοπική κάρτα Holmes