In “Dippold the Optician,” an eye doctor moves a customer through one lens after another, asking what appears. The answers shift quickly from family faces to knights, beautiful women, fields, cities, angels, a lake, a book, empty space, and finally pure light that makes the world look tiny. The optician stays calm and encouraging, treating these strange visions as a normal part of finding the right prescription. The mood is curious and dreamlike, almost playful. Each lens creates a different reality, so the poem suggests that seeing is never neutral—what we perceive depends on the lens we look through. The last image of light turning everything into a toy world leaves a feeling of wonder and slight detachment, as if vision can both reveal and shrink our lives.
Dippold the Optician — Summary
What do you see now? Globes of red, yellow, purple. Just a moment! And now? My father and mother and sisters. Yes! And now? Knights at arms, beautiful women, kind faces. Try this. A field of grain—a city. Very good! And now? A young woman with angels bending over her. A heavier lens! And now? Many women with bright eyes and open lips. Try this. Just a goblet on a table. Oh I see! Try this lens! Just an open space—I see nothing in particular. Well, now! Pine trees, a lake, a summer sky. That’s better. And now? A book. Read a page for me. I can’t. My eyes are carried beyond the page. Try this lens. Depths of air. Excellent! And now! Light, just light making everything below it a toy world. Very well, we’ll make the glasses accordingly.