Life, 1912-01-04 · page 64 of 108
Life — January 4, 1912 — page 64: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This poem by Arthur Guiterman presents Fate as a cosmic jester who toys with human affairs. The accompanying illustration shows a grotesque, grinning figure holding Earth like a bauble while cosmic elements surround him. The satire targets human pretension: those who consider themselves "Masters of Fate" are mere puppets to this all-powerful cosmic force. The poem mocks people who "scramble for power and place," whose ambitions Fate can shatter with a finger's flip. However, the poem offers redemption for those who laugh *with* Fate rather than against it—those with humility, courage, and compassion who recognize life's futility yet maintain hope and love. The final lines suggest spiritual transcendence: accepting Fate's supremacy may lead to discovering a greater Master beyond the material universe. The overall message: wisdom lies in humility and good humor about one's cosmic insignificance, not in struggling against inevitable forces.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Fate, the Jester Tue planets are bells on his motley, He fleers at the stars in their state, He banters the suns burning hotly— Phe Jester whose nickname is Fate. The lanterns that kindle their rays with The comets, are food for his mirth; But oh, how he laughs as he plays with His mad little bauble, the Earth! He looks on the atomies crowding The face of our pitiful ball; His form in the nebule shrouding, He chuckles, unnoted of all The valorous puppets that chatter Superbly of Little and Great. A flip of his finger would shatter The dreams of these “ Masters of Fate” — He laughs at their strivings and rages And tosses the murmurant sphere To bowl through the zodiac-stages That measure the groove of a Year. He laughs as he trips up the maddest Who scramble for power and place, But laughs with the bravest and gladdest— Fate’s comrades, who laugh in his face; x Who laugh. at themselves and their troubles Whatever the beaker they quaff ; Who, laughing at Vanity’s bubbles, Forget not to love as they laugh; Who laugh in the teeth of disaster, Yet hope through the darkness to find d road past the stars to a Master Of Fate in the vastness behind. Arthur Guiterman.