In this continuing serialization of Dragonfly, the next poem is an ekphrastic poem, of sorts. Instead of a work of art, the poem's subject is a robotic ornithopter . . . a work of art still, in a way. The speaker of the poem is the inventor of the pterosaur robot, aviation engineer Paul MacCready.
An Aviation Engineer’s Tribute to Leonardo
Paul MacCready's latest project in flying machines will set the clock back millions of years . . . [a flying replica] of a pterosaur . . . with a 36-foot wingspan, the largest animal ever to have taken to the air. —Science 86, April 1986.
When you painted The Annunciation, you perched
your unlikely angel, haloed by a disk of golden
needles, against a scrim of unlikely trees.
What pins your Gabriel to earth are his massy
wings, hardy engines of muscle and hollow bone
fletched with pinions and downy feathers, rooted
in feminine shoulders. The painting just another
excuse to fiddle with your obsessions: mechanics
of flight, impetus and percussion, friction
and load, your personal war with gravity.
You caged sparrows merely to let them fly,
freeze the moment in ink and pencil. Leonardo,
this spring I thawed wings from stone, resurrected
a dinosaur, my simulacrum flapping to life
like a rare bat reborn after millions of years.
Quetzalcoatlus northropi. Pterodactyl's city cousin
crafted from plastic and piano wire. Its dreams
a stream of electrons jumping silicon hoops.
And wings, Leonardo!
Not a propeller.
Not a parachute.
One morning at El Mirage, my Frankenstein took
her maiden flight. Largest ornithopter ever—
the cybernetic pterosaur glided and soared,
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flapping hard in desert thermals. She cocked
her head to and fro, the bony crest like an Indian
warfeather bucking the wind. I could see your
Gabriel suddenly flexing his wings. He shrugs, shakes off
random flakes of paint. Sliding into sky, a ragged void
left in the painting, he cruises centuries into this desert:
archangel and dinosaur wheeling in heavenly ballet.
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Page 34
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Paul MacCready with his pterosaur ornithopter
at El Mirage Lake in 1984 (from "Living Pterosaurs") |
You can see MacCready's pterosaur flying in this short video, unfortunately grainy. Another interesting footnote: I wrote a sequel poem, "Quetzalcoatlus roboti Heads Home" that you can read here; it was published in the anthology Multiverse.
As always, I'd love to get some feedback or discuss anything with all y'all. Comment, okay? Thanks. Ingat.
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