I dislike the tone of voice of cosmologists,
busy with ethereal theories and gossamer
ideas, yet so superior and smugly self-satisfied,
all they claim just guesswork – but they create
the impression they can adjudicate what people
should think about the beginning and end of the
cosmos, their tone is cold, without the support
of spiritualists I would never struggle my way
through their whimsical ideas and hypothetical
fantasies, the moment George Smoot extrapolates
from his cosmological games to philosophy and the
meaning of the cosmos, the air grows cold, so cold,
life loses its magic in their empty speculations –
though I sometimes feel like suffocating in too
much love from so-called spiritual intelligences,
I always run back for more antidote against the
heartbreaking coldness of the cosmologists...
George Smoot “Wrinkles in Time”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem