One way has ended.
Another way opens up and travels into Blueness.
White, over tracts and walls,
Flutter a scientist's sensitive hands
Like shrewd and knowing owls through the greyness.
One thousand human beings stare
Craning their necks
At the tiny foot of earthly iron
From which stretches out
The lonely guidepost of a space probe.
One thousand human beings listen to the grind
"Come into being"
By which somebody out there will rouse
The sound of the future,
One among them . . . they hear the music of his blood,
His blood, their blood . . .
They are seeking with souls outstretched
The singing of tomorrow . . .
And tremble to lose it.
One way has ended.
One way is entering the blueness.
A scientist's hands are fluttering in the greyness
That bears the future.
Another way opens up and travels into Blueness.
White, over tracts and walls,
Flutter a scientist's sensitive hands
Like shrewd and knowing owls through the greyness.
One thousand human beings stare
Craning their necks
At the tiny foot of earthly iron
From which stretches out
The lonely guidepost of a space probe.
One thousand human beings listen to the grind
"Come into being"
By which somebody out there will rouse
The sound of the future,
One among them . . . they hear the music of his blood,
His blood, their blood . . .
They are seeking with souls outstretched
The singing of tomorrow . . .
And tremble to lose it.
One way has ended.
One way is entering the blueness.
A scientist's hands are fluttering in the greyness
That bears the future.
Gerhart Herrmann Mostar
Berlin, 1927
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