Let us now praise prime numbers
With our fathers who begat us:
The power, the peculiar glory of prime numbers
Is that nothing begat them,
No ancestors, no factors,
Adams among the multiplied generations.
None can foretell their coming.
Among the ordinal numbers
They do not reserve their seats, arrive unexpected.
Along the lines of cardinals
They rise like surprising pontiffs,
Each absolute, inscrutable, self-elected.
In the beginning where chaos
Ends and zero resolves,
They crowd the foreground prodigal as forest,
But middle distance thins them,
Far distance to infinity
Yields them rare as unreturning comets.
O prime improbable numbers,
Long may formula-hunters
Steam in abstraction, waste to skeleton patience:
Stay non-conformist, nuisance,
Phenomena irreducible
To system, sequence, pattern or explanation.
Su Helen Spalding, poetessa inglese, non è che si trovino molte notizie online. L'unica pagina di Wikipedia che la menziona è (!) quella in lingua frisona. La sua ode ai numeri primi, vagamente ispirata, sembra, al Capitolo 44 del libro del Siracide, rieccheggia però qua e là online, ad esempio in questo vecchio articolo dell'American Scientist.
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