Technocracy: Invocation

When on poetic venture one begins,

When to a great endeavor one aspires;

When to the earth a great new thing is born,

When something mighty is in the attempt;

When wielding water, fire, air, and earth,

When knitting flesh and steel, circuit and bone;

When dreaming plots, and vast conspiracy,

When naming faction, tumult, strife, and war;

When of heroes and villains one would speak;

When speaking, too, of those who blur such lines;

When dealing of great things, and small things too,

When marking Heaven’s vault, and Hell’s vast deep,

When to such things a poet dares to chance,

Long custom holds it prudent to invoke

The Muses Nine; so mighty Homer did,

And humble Virgil, sailing in his wake.

Thus also holy Dante’s habit was,

Though by his happy end he’d passed their reach.

So even Milton, swelled and stern in pride,

Admitting none between him and his King,

Did for his tale a kind of Muse invoke,

Although not quite the same as the old Nine.

E’en so, a Muse he called it, and it was

In keeping with tradition fixed and true.

But I? I think I’ll forge a different path,

As on my undertaking I embark.

For, after all, my project is a thing

Undone before in poetry or prose:

Whereas before the present and the past

Were thought to be an epic’s proper field,

It is the future now of which I treat;

I write of what is not, but yet might be.

‘Tis science fiction I propose to write,

Of distant times and realms we have not seen.

Thus for my cause the Muses seem unfit;

And so I spurn them, needing not their aid.

Instead it is the saints on whom I call!

The holy men and women, angels too,

The servants great of GOD who reigns on high—

The LORD, from whom all power truly flows.

For it is God who moves me now to write;

To sing His glory, I take up my pen.

From Him, then, through His servants, do I ask

The talent and the power to achieve

This mighty job to which I set myself.

Yet I respect the ways things once were done:

So since the Muses numbered nine before,

Nine is the number of the saints I hail.

First call I upon FRANCIS, he of SALES,

The bloom of old Savoy, Geneva’s light,

Who won so many souls back to the Faith

From which in darkness they had strayed and fled.

He is the patron saint of all who write,

He whose own writing had such great effect.

I ask that I this project write with skill,

And that it will surpass all prior work.

Let me construct the story with great care,

And let each character have breath and life.

Let metaphor and symbol have their place;

Let there be meaning great behind my words.

Next do I pray to DAVID, he of WALES,

He, faithful bishop of that far green land,

Who kept the fear of sin alive and just,

And to the monks instructed proper life.

Of poets he is called the patron saint,

And so to him I now direct my lips.

Let me in time a pleasing song compose,

Let beauty and a grandeur fill my verse.

Allow my meter to unceasing flow,

In perfect rhythm and in perfect time.

My pen be dipped in gold, my keyboard gild,

Both poetry and prose be made ideal.

And now I call on mighty AUGUSTINE,

That bishop of the Church on Afric’s shore,

Who once upon a time the true Faith spurned

And flitted from one error to the next.

He who from the right path so long did stray,

But in time’s fullness came to home, and thrived.

You taught that without God all is in vain,

So do I ask: let my eyes never turn.

Upon the Lord may my gaze e’er remain;

Let Him be at the center of my work.

I pray that praise for God may find its way

Into the very marrow of my song.

I pray to THOMAS, from AQUINO’S land,

He who among the Schoolmen ranks the first.

It was his power to perceive the truth,

Both faith and reason perfectly to join.

With argument and query he advanced,

Defending well the Faith from those who err.

I ask, Aquinas, that you light my path,

With angel’s glow my way illumine bright.

Let all my learning be of careful cast,

Philosophy, theology acute.

Let me use wisdom in the proper way.

Let me not into error trip and fall.

I pray to CATHERINE, from SIENA’s land,

She who the bride of Christ aspired to be.

Her letters could the Pope and kings command;

‘Twas by her prayers that Rome its jewel regained.

By her the Church restored its ancient zeal,

And was amended of its present sins.

My lady, you recorded in your work

That we should seek perfection, though we fail;

For God rewards our seeking, and by grace

Allows us to attain that which we wish.

Let me then seek perfection in my tale,

That God may grant it to me, in due time.

I next proceed to call upon JEROME,

That faithful priest to whom all peoples owe

Their senses of the Scripture; for ‘twas he

That rendered it into the common tongue.

He made a home, a childhood, for those

Who ‘cross Rome’s reach in Latin read and spoke.

Let me use language to the best degree,

Let composition never fail my cause.

And not just English—let the other tongues,

Both modern and the ancient, be well-used.

Whether the Hebrew old, or Chinese new:

Oh patron of translators, guide my hand.

To JUDE, faithful Apostle, I now pray,

He who has been from time to time confused

With the Betrayer; but he kept the faith

And served his Master until his own death.

He roamed into the old Armenian lands,

There spreading the Good News for all to hear.

Jude is the patron saint of hopelessness,

Of causes that seem far beyond all help.

My task has seemed to me hopeless at times,

And daunting—one that would inspire dread.

So do I pray to you, one of the Twelve,

That with your intercession I succeed.

I now reach higher, to Saint JOSEPH’S name,

The head of that tremendous family:

He was the husband of the Virgin bless’d,

And did our Lord and Savior raise from birth.

He is the guardian of those who work,

And of all fathers he is called the best.

In both roles, great Saint Joseph, hear my prayer.

Please bless my work, and keep my spirit strong,

When time to time my labor seems too great.

Also as father, do I pray, bless me:

Protect me from all strife and all distress.

My song guard too, til manhood it achieves.

At last, and highest, MICHAEL I acclaim,

The mighty Prince of that angelic host.

By God’s decree ‘twas he who led the charge

Against great Satan and his devilish force.

That battle won, he fights it still today,

His sword the scourge of demons at all times.

Great archangel, I pray you intercede

Against the Devil, if my work he sees

And tries to turn it towards a sinful end.

Let me never lose sight of my true goal,

And from my holy course let me not stray.

My work is Christian—let it so remain.

You holy women, men, and angels all,

Great choirs of Heaven, sing to me in prayer!

I ask that all your number intercede,

And pray so that the Lord to me will grant

Such strength and skill that I may tell a tale

The likes of which the world has never seen.

I pray for health, for time, for spirit, will,

For all such things as I may find I need.

When I have finished, let it be a work

That may to God lead those who read it well.

Let me begin well, and let me well end.

This is my prayer, Oh Lord! I say “Amen.”