Eppur Si Muove / And yet It Moves

Eppur si muove. And yet it moves. This is what Galileo supposedly said, speaking of the earth, upon being found guilty of heresy in 1633 for promoting the Copernican model of heliocentricity. In its move away from the sun, the earth has turned a full thirty rotations since I began posting here at Open Book. The earth’s speed at the equator is 1,100 miles per hour. I’m mystified by how we can’t really sense this, as the earth moves, with the seasons, towards and away from the sun. Always there is movement and here we are, continually hurtling forward with the face of the earth, whether we do feel it or not. None of us are suspended and motionless, and we are not at the centre of the universe. And by inalterable chance or elaborate intention, our trajectory, tilted though it may be, always spins us back to the origin point.

As I turn back to working on poems, my entries here end and another writer-in-residence begins writing their own. My thanks to Grace O’Connell, Clelia Scala, and to Open Book. My thanks too to all the writers who graciously gave their thoughts and words to my questions: Rhonda Douglas, Amanda Earl, Phil Hall, Linda Lacroix, Jennifer Londry, Christine McNair, Michael Redhill, Jennifer Still, Sweet Baboo/Writer X, and Lorie and Robert Wright. And thank you, colleagues and friends, for your space and time. There’s never enough of each.

The views expressed in the Writer-in-Residence blogs are those held by the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of Open Book: Toronto.