Tag: chemistry

“Consider the chem flask deemed conical;
Of glassware, example canonical.
Or: name Erlenmeyer 
Cohesive-inspires.
Both names, in lab ways: economical.”

The 7 April 2023 Twitter limerick focused on a common piece of glassware found in the laboratory setting.  

“Consider the chem flask deemed conical; /
Of glassware, example canonical.”

I’ve written before about the “lab check-in day,” in which students evaluate the contents of their lab drawers to make sure they have all the different pieces of lab equipment they will need throughout a semester.  It can be an overwhelming introduction, given the general novelty of both the materials and the vocabulary.  

Often, labeled charts of glassware are helpful in matching name to item for these long lists, as with this outstanding resource available on the blog Compound Interest. (The post title semi-acknowledges this, but it primarily was chosen due to its rhyme with the more common saying of “task list”!)    

The “chem flask deemed conical” (#4 at the link above) often has one of the most familiar shapes, in terms of its use in a lab setting.  It is a classic, “canonical” example of scientific glassware.  Typically, students checking into their labs will find that they have a wide variety of these flasks (100 mL, 250 mL, 400 mL, etc.), in order to be able to work with a wide variety of volumes of reagents on common laboratory tasks such as filtration and recrystallization.      

“Or: name Erlenmeyer /
Cohesive-inspires. /
Both names, in lab ways: economical.”

A conical flask is also known as an Erlenmeyer flask, named for its inventor (Emil Erlenmeyer).  The two names reference the same piece of glassware, which (as noted above) is one of the most prototypical pieces of equipment in an introductory lab.  

Thus, by either name, the flask “cohesive-inspires”: its image and name can stand in as visual, “economical” shorthands for the equipment used in a wide variety of scientific experiments and endeavors.         

“A balancing act, oft-considered:
Reactants and products delivered;
Coefficients adapted
(Steps sometime-protracted!)
Show elements even-configured.” 

The 6 April 2023 Twitter limerick summarized one of the most common skill sets developed in General Chemistry: balancing a chemical reaction equation.  

“A balancing act, oft-considered: /
Reactants and products delivered…” 

Learning to balance an equation is a key goal in General Chemistry: the “balancing act [is] oft-considered.”  

Here is a sample, unbalanced-for-now reaction: H₂ + O₂ →  H₂O  

In this case, H₂ (hydrogen) and O₂ (oxygen) are the reactants, “delivered” on the left side of the arrow, while H₂O (water) is the product, on the right side of the arrow.  The arrow is read as the phrase “react to form”: here, hydrogen and oxygen react to form water.   

“Coefficients adapted…”

To balance the reaction, a chemist “adapts” the coefficients (the numbers in front of the formulas).      

Reconsidering the reaction above, we initially have two equivalents of hydrogen and two equivalents of oxygen on the left side of the arrow, with two equivalents of hydrogen and one equivalent of oxygen on the right side.  We “adapt” the coefficients to the following, which gives four equivalents of hydrogen and two equivalents of oxygen on both sides of the reaction arrow: 2 H₂ + O₂ → 2 H₂O  

“(Steps sometime-protracted!)” 

This is a simple example; the process can be frustratingly complex with more complicated reactions!  

“Show elements even-configured.” 

As with many aspects of General Chemistry, the “immediate” skill under consideration (here, balancing a reaction) is challenging in itself.  It is thus additionally tough to take a step back to see why we care about a balanced reaction, one in which the elements are “even-configured.” 

However, such a technique carries with it several chemical insights (such as Dalton’s Theory) and allows several mathematical extensions (stoichiometry).  Both aspects will become more evident as reaction-balancing becomes more second-nature: as the “skills [are] set,” to reference the post title. 

“‘Show the work’ as a key exhortation
In instructions for chem calculations:
Denoting the process
Will optimize progress
As one seeks unknowns in equations.”

The 5 April 2023 Twitter limerick again drew inspiration from a common saying encountered in my own STEM coursework. 

Interestingly, years before I wrote the poem, I had written about this particular phrase in an online creative writing class, via the prompt: “What is your one ironclad rule?”  Today’s essay will adapt that previous response in translating the limerick, so I’ll allot more space than the 280 words that I normally give myself in these posts.   

“‘Show the work’ as a key exhortation /
In instructions for chem calculations…”

My one ironclad rule is that I show the work.  It’s an exhortation from my eighth-grade algebra teacher that I’ve never forgotten.  She would add “STW!” as an abbreviation on my homework and exams when I would take a step of the solution for granted.  Her advice served me well through the many years since, as I proceeded through an academic path to a teaching job of my own, from college through grad school through post-doctoral training, and ultimately to teaching my own classes.  I succeeded in many aspects of my chemistry coursework thanks to dimensional analysis: showing the work (!) and– via a tenet only marginally less important– including and understanding the units.    

“Denoting the process /
Will optimize progress /
As one seeks unknowns in equations.”

As I teach classes of my own, I try to “STW” as a model for my students.  In my first few years of teaching, I worried often about the prospect of student questions to which I would not know the answer.  Now, I recognize the value of showing to students that scientific understanding is very much a process, that while I might not know “A,” I do know “B” and “C,” and that makes me suspect “D” about the original question. (“And it’s a great question!  Let me know what you find out when you look into it.”) 

I tell students at the start of every exam to show me their thought processes even if they aren’t sure of the final answer: “Show me the set-up even if you know your answer is wrong.”  In other words, “denoting the process will optimize progress,” regardless of setting.  

***

Right around the time I had received that essay prompt, several years ago, I read an article in The Washington Post, in which Professor Alan Levinovitz commented in part on the importance of science educators’ discussing the work and identity of scientists: the processes and individuals via which our introductory textbooks and curricula come to be: “When I was a child, scientific knowledge was presented to me as though it came from a big book of Important Truths,” Levinowitz wrote.  “We discussed the scientific method, yes, but the scientists tasked with executing it and the communities tasked with underwriting their work were rendered invisible.”  

It’s the need to “STW,” writ large: the processes are the stories of science, and they are fascinating.  Two major reasons that I pursued science were an interest in those underlying stories and some inherent sense that I wasn’t yet nearly fluent in the notation and vocabulary necessary to appreciate them.  It should be easier to access these stories, to show the work that leads to the principles that we expect students to readily memorize. 

In many of the courses I teach, and in several of the essays I’ve posted here, I reference state functions and path functions, which are different from a mathematical perspective. 

State functions are those that can be defined via only the initial and final states of a system.  Altitude is my go-to example.  “Imagine a group of mountain-climbers, each climbing a mountain via a different path,” I say.  “When they reach the peak, they are at the same final altitude regardless of the path they took.  Altitude is a state function.”  Path functions are those that require a consideration of the path between the beginning and ending states.  “Remember the mountain climbers?  The distance they traveled will be very different depending on whether they took a scenic route that wound around the mountain, all the way up to the top, or forged ahead straight up the mountain.”  

All this to say: science is presented in textbooks as a state function, but it’s very much a path function, dependent on human constructs, individual triumphs and setbacks, necessary course corrections.  Far, far too often, textbooks present the final state as the whole story.  It has been fun and rewarding on this site to appreciate more of the paths.    

Likewise, to return to my ironclad rule, I find it immensely helpful to “STW!” in writing as well: to grapple with drafts and word choice and talk to other writers, to remember the value of the process.  It’s been a great revelation in the past few years to remember how rewarding it can be to treat writing as a path function, too: taking advantage of existing structures, but ultimately seeking the unknown in this field, as well. 

“Indelible note: observation 
As the first step to gain information, 
To give close attention. 
Steps t’ward comprehension 
Can follow from next contemplations.”

The 4 April 2023 limerick noted another popular theme seen often on this site: the importance of observation as a first step in the scientific method, as well as in analyses across several disciplines.  

“Indelible note: observation / 
As the first step to gain information, /
To give close attention.” 

This and the 5 April 2023 poem, which I’ll revisit next week, found their inspiration in some of my most vivid memories of learning STEM concepts prior to college.  

I was fortunate to work with several outstanding science and math teachers during middle and high school.  One of these science teachers asked for the definition of observation as a bonus question on every exam, defining observation in that instance as “noticing or paying close attention to your surroundings in order to gain information.”  That consistent focus made it into this poem, albeit slightly reworded, as my indelible memory of one way to characterize the first step of the scientific method.  

In the decades since, I’ve had the opportunity to collaborate with a local art museum, which extends the importance of observation to multiple disciplinary fields; I’ve also appreciated their succinct and effective discussion of observation as “careful noticing.”  

“Steps t’ward comprehension /
Can follow from next contemplations.”

A “flow chart” depiction of the scientific method generally leads from observation to a question, from a question to a hypothesis, from a hypothesis to the experiment that can test that potential answer, and so on.  As is likely obvious, science in practice is more complex than that methodical and neatly contained set of steps.  

However, observation is undeniably a key, initial step in analytical or creative techniques across multiple disciplines; moreover, reflection on observations can provide “steps towards comprehension” or insights, in multiple disciplines. 

“The chart periodic will settle
Much chem data known, in fine fettle
And space economic:
Ranked numbers atomic
Yield elements’ proving their mettle.”

The 3 April 2023 limerick provided yet another ode to the Periodic Table of the Elements (PTE), which is undoubtedly my most common disciplinary theme.  As with the commonalities in the “start of the month” poems, PTE-related phrases accumulate quickly, so that I sometimes run into a challenge with avoiding rhymes I’ve used before, but this was one where the pun at the end clearly distinguished it from previous work!

“The chart periodic will settle / 
Much chem data known, in fine fettle /
And space economic…”

Certainly, the big themes of this poem are also ones I’ve summarized here in essay form previously, and so I hope this post does not seem too redundant.  

In 1869, Dmitri Mendeleev published his precursor to the modern Periodic Table of the Elements (PTE).  This “chart periodic” was a major step forward for chemists, given its organizational and predictive power.  Much had previously been known about specific, individual elements, but such a coordinated presentation, regarding multiple elements at once, was a significant advance.  

The PTE communicates a tremendous amount of information (“much chem data known”), effectively and compactly (“in fine fettle and space economic”).   

“Ranked numbers atomic /
Yield elements’ proving their mettle.” 

Mendeleev’s PTE used atomic weight to order the elements; the modern PTE uses atomic number (the number of protons in an atom of each element), which gives a slightly different order (“rank”).  The PTE allows elements to “prove their mettle,” or demonstrate their properties, in a visually convenient way.  

This last line also allows for a play on words with the homophones “mettle” and “metal,” because one of the immediate conclusions a chemist can draw from the PTE is whether or not an element is a metal or a non-metal!  Elements with metallic character are on the left side of the PTE; elements with non-metallic character are on the right side; and elements with aspects of both metals and non-metals, known as metalloids, form the shape of a “staircase” between these regions on the PTE.  The majority of elements on the PTE are metals. 

“The treetops, consistently towering
Through sunshine and April’s rain-showering;
Now, branches connecting 
With blooms, intersecting:
The structures, once-skeletal, flowering.”

The 2 April 2023 Twitter limerick used a theme from organic chemistry to note the approach of spring weather.  It is somewhat unusual in its structure for two reasons: first, that the organic chemistry term is not introduced until the very end, so there’s not the same benefit in a line-by-line explanation; second, that it had an accompanying photo (included here, as well).  The title here alludes to both the change of seasons and the idea of “turning over a new leaf.”   

“The treetops, consistently towering
Through sunshine and April’s rain-showering…”

I am fortunate to have a few hiking trails near my home, and it is reliably reassuring to watch the scenery change throughout the seasons.  In particular, I enjoy watching the trees shift from summer to fall and winter to spring, each year: while the leaves fall and grow, the trees themselves are consistent.       

“Now, branches connecting /
With blooms, intersecting: /
The structures, once-skeletal, flowering.”

In organic chemistry, skeletal structures are drawing conventions that simplify depictions of complicated molecules by focusing on the hydrocarbon connectivity patterns (the “carbon skeleton”).  The only atoms shown in skeletal structures are heteroatoms: those that are NOT carbon or hydrogen.  

For instance, the molecule ethane consists of two carbon atoms connected to one another, with each carbon atom further connected to three hydrogen atoms; in its skeletal structure depiction, it is simply a line.  The molecule propane, in which three carbon atoms are connected to one another, looks like a V when written out in a skeletal structure.  The utility of such a convention for efficient communication becomes much clearer with increasingly complex structures.  

Tree branches in late winter, before the season turns and their new leaves and blossoms flourish, always remind me of this drawing convention.  As spring arrives, “the structures, once-skeletal, [are] flowering.”

“Concurrent with April’s start, breaking;
Endeavor’s syllabic placemaking 
Finds light-verse-attempting
With STEM intercepting;
Fifth chemical-verse undertaking.”

As the cycle of an academic year returns to its starting line with the beginning of classes, it makes sense to restart these weekly posts, as well.  The 1 April 2023 Twitter limerick marked the start of my fifth attempt at completing the routines of National Poetry Writing Month (also known as NaPoWriMo).  

“Concurrent with April’s start, breaking…”

With my own creative writing, the start of each April since 2019 has also brought the start of this poetic effort.  In NaPoWriMo, the goal is to complete one poem per day, resulting in thirty new poems over the month of April. 

“Endeavor’s syllabic placemaking /
Finds light-verse-attempting /
With STEM intercepting…”

Finding different ways to describe this April routine, without repeating past words or phrasings, has been an intriguing challenge as synonyms for “poem” and “verse” quickly dwindle.  “Syllabic placemaking” was a new descriptor.  (I should also note that the actual poem accidentally used “attempt” twice in two lines, so I am glad for the chance to revise slightly here!)  

The third and fourth lines sum up the perpetual goal of this writing project: to use the accessible structures of limericks and other light verse to communicate scientific concepts more effectively (“light-verse-attempting with STEM intercepting”).  

“Fifth chemical-verse undertaking.”

Because my NaPoWriMo attempts began back in 2019, this 2023 trial marks the fifth such attempt at a scientific poetry project.  This is a rather predictable essay, as it’s now one of multiple posts introducing such a month-long April effort!  However, it is still useful to find some space for creative writing as the academic year “circles back”— as autumn classes and meetings begin yet again (as described by one of the most ubiquitous workplace-email phrases for revisiting a topic).  Future weeks will have more of a chemistry-specific theme. 

“Early-August-ly,
The chemists will congregate,
Sharing ideas ere
Nearing school year:
Posters presented and
Talks documented in
Campus-set West Lafayette.
(We are here!)” 

This is the final post in a project that used a 2022 conference talk to provide the subject for five 2023 summer essays.  This poem was posted on Twitter to celebrate the conference, but I haven’t expanded it in this space previously, so it provides a logical topic for the final July 2023 post.         

“Early-August-ly, /
The chemists will congregate, /
Sharing ideas ere /
Nearing school year…”

The substance of my 2022 talk was addressed in the last few posts, so this final essay highlights the conference itself. This presentation was part of the Biennial Conference on Chemical Education (BCCE), held at Purdue University (in West Lafayette, Indiana) in 2022. 

While I have also attended larger conferences, such as those hosted by the American Chemical Society, I find the teaching focus of the BCCE to be particularly helpful as the calendar winds toward the start of autumn coursework (i.e., “early-August-ly”), and I have presented at multiple BCCEs in the past.   

“Posters presented and /
Talks documented in /
Campus-set West Lafayette. /
(We are here!)” 

In the field of chemistry, conferences involve two types of presentations: posters and talks.  Both of these are more ephemeral than articles and book chapters, which is part of the reason I have found it rewarding to revisit the topic in written text, in this space. 

Writing this series of summer essays has thus been a fitting variation on the iterative, periodic routine that informs so many of these posts: a chance to return to a topic in a more deliberate way.  Such a conclusion is particularly useful to remember as the academic year draws near to its cyclic structure’s starting line, yet again, in 2023.  

I plan to pause posts here until classes resume, then return to the routine of translating a content-focused poem each week, as this timeline has been helpful in navigating past autumn terms.  

STEM fields can seem oft-disconcerting;
Verse forms can be structure-asserting…
Rhymed stories, presented,
And jargon, contended–
A wall to a bridge thus converting.

The fourth post of this planned five-post series builds on a non-Twitter poem that I wrote for the presentation in question.  The poem, in turn, builds on an insightful quote from the American Association for the Advancement of Science, about the challenges of science communication.  “Chemistry coordination,” in the post’s title, inverts the name of a specific field of study (coordination chemistry) to evoke the idea of collaborative aims, via the intersection of chemistry content and light-verse forms.

“STEM fields can seem oft-disconcerting; /
Verse forms can be structure-asserting…”

The first portion of this 2022 talk presented the structures of limericks and double dactyls, as well as their use in my creative writing about science. The second shifted to a discussion of potential uses in science communication: the way that the “structure-asserting” nature of a verse can help an interested learner navigate an “oft-disconcerting” scientific discipline.     

Science communication (often abbreviated SciComm) is a complex academic field of its own, so I am aware that my discussion here, as a scientist interested in language and communication, is rudimentary at best.  However, two themes that I have seen consistently reiterated in both academic and social media settings for SciComm include the importance of story/narrative in communicating science and the challenges that jargon can pose, points that both align strongly with insights and realizations from my own educational path.  

One particularly powerful quote is available via the American Association for the Advancement of Science, from Joe Heimlich: “Jargon can be, in my mind, a tool, a weapon, a wall, and/or a bridge. Jargon is important shorthand within a field, but that language can be used to keep others out, or to shut others down.”  

“Rhymed stories, presented, /
And jargon, contended– /
A wall to a bridge thus converting.”

The science poems I write have two main goals: to concisely share a scientist’s biography or to deliberately simplify jargon.  

For a sample biographical poem, my hope is that these can be read by either a chemistry learner or a chemistry expert, and that while each audience might take away different points, both types of points would be useful.  Revisiting the poem posted in honor of Alice Augusta Ball, for instance, anyone could read this poem and learn Professor Ball’s name, as well as note the importance of her research to the field of medicine.  A chemist would likely be able to further discern details about her work and the specific insight that she brought to her research question.  (Both sets of conclusions are expanded in the pertinent essay about that poem.)  

With a sample “jargon-contending” poem, my goal is to alleviate the challenging vocabulary a bit by engaging with those terms simply as words: using rhymes, reliable verse structure, and predictable metric feet.  The poem and post about valence-shell electron-pair repulsion (VSEPR) theory, for examples of this type, both aim to first communicate the big picture: this theory efficiently predicts molecular shapes based on the fact that electron pairs repel one another.  The poem does so with some everyday language, relative to textbook presentations; my aim is that the intentionally humorous tone of light verse can minimize concerns arising from the lack of precision.        

The last line of the poem sums up my goal with these efforts, alluding to the AAAS quote: I hope these poems can convert scientific language from “a wall to a bridge,” allowing the vocabulary and stories to provide a creative way into chemistry material, rather than a barrier to learning.

Higgledy-piggledy…
Double dactylic: a
Verse structure off’ring more
Syllabic space. 
Themes are expanding with
Project longstanding as
Concepts, biographies
Gather apace.  

This is the third part of an ongoing, likely-to-be-five-part project, expanding on a presentation from 2022 to provide an “asynchronous” essay series on the same topic.  This specific post will discuss how I have used a modification of the double-dactyl form in some science poetry work. 

This is a poem type that tends to be less familiar than the limerick, so I’ve included a new, non-Twitter example around which to build this essay.  (The title of this post is adapted from a phrase related to chemical bond formation; here, it alludes to the rewarding interconnections I’ve seen in the fields of chemistry and poetry.)

“Higgledy-piggledy… /
Double dactylic: a /
Verse structure off’ring more /
Syllabic space.“

The double dactyl form is newer than the limerick form, and its provenance is more definitive.  Paul Pascal, Anthony Hecht, and John Hollander developed the extensive rules for this poem, memorably nicknamed the “higgledy piggledy,” in the mid-twentieth century.    

In this eight-line poem, the meter is dactylic throughout [DAH-dah-dah (e.g., “PO-et-ry”)], with a rhyme between lines 4 and 8.  To be a true double dactyl, the first line should consist of nonsense words, the second of a referenced name of some variety, and one line should itself be a single unique six-syllable, double-dactylic word.  

My own poems rarely meet all of those precise requirements!  However, compared to the five lines of the limerick, the double dactyl offers more “syllabic space” with which to work, and so for many topics, it has been slightly more flexible.  

“Themes are expanding with /
Project longstanding as /
Concepts, biographies /
Gather apace.”  

In my experience, this form has held particular promise for explaining a concept in a memorable way or telling a scientist’s story.   

***

My chemistry limerick project ended on 30 April 2019, so I faced the predictable question of “now what?” on 1 May 2019.  I was aware it wasn’t sustainable to keep the effort going indefinitely, and I deliberately paused for a while.  

Later that summer, as I’ve described elsewhere on this site, I found a Periodic Poetry writing contest that inspired a double-dactyl-esque poem about Dmitri Mendeleev, commemorating the 150th anniversary of his publishing the precursor to the modern Periodic Table of the Elements.  The contest and recognition were both rewarding at a challenging time of the year, inspiring me to keep trying with this sort of creative work.  In the years since, I have continued to post poems regularly for National Poetry Month (April) and National Chemistry Week (October), with the occasional effort in between, and I have regularly expanded those poems into essays on this website as well. 

Interestingly, in negotiating scientific jargon, I notice that certain anapestic or dactylic feet will automatically emerge, a fact that often discerns between the limerick or double-dactyl form.  A salute to the “stoichiometrical” or the “macromolecular,” for instance, would automatically require the latter!  I also greatly enjoy highlighting the stories of scientists, and I’ve seen that full names often fit well into this dactylic format: Percy L. Julian, Josiah Willard Gibbs, and Alice Augusta Ball, to name a few.          

As I’ve experimented with light-verse forms throughout the years, I have become increasingly interested in their potential for effectively communicating introductory science stories and principles, as the homepage here notes.