Tag: teaching

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Science and Poetry

Closer Looks

In further cross-discipline striving 
Of breadth-versus-depth enterprising,
Past mys’tries, detailing 
Through lens countervailing:
Find insights routine yet surprising.

The third July 2025 post takes a closer look at the book referenced in the last essay.   

I was fortunate to double-major in both chemistry and English as an undergraduate.  At that time, paleontologist Stephen Jay Gould was the primary science essayist of whom I was aware, as his work had been excerpted in several of the anthologies I read as part of my English courses.  I then received The Hedgehog, the Fox, and the Magister’s Pox as a Christmas gift early in my graduate school career, soon after I had narrowed my academic path to chemistry.  

Throughout my academic path, Gould’s book has been a helpful reminder of the broader interdisciplinary context in which I remain most interested.     

In further cross-discipline striving /
Of breadth-versus-depth enterprising…

As alluded to in the last post, Gould’s final book surveys “breadth-versus-depth [“fox versus hedgehog”] enterprising” throughout some key episodes in the history of science.  It was a challenging read, initially.  When I first read it, I was still developing my fluency in chemistry.  My discipline, moreover, was far afield from Gould’s expertise in natural history, which provided his own lens into studying the history of the sciences and humanities.  Finally, given that my own interests had been supported by both of my home departments during my undergraduate work, I had not yet encountered academic tension between the fields in the way Gould describes.  

However, this was a book that acknowledged and embodied the fact that investigations at the borders between academic disciplines exist, and it described some phenomena I would soon come to see in my own career. Contextualizing such observations has ultimately been quite helpful in my long-term academic path.  I have come back to Gould’s text often, finding new insights in each instance of “cross-discipline striving.”      

Past mys’tries, detailing /
Through lens countervailing…

Gould’s book provides a survey of scientific history that is broader than what is included in science-specific textbooks (at least in my experience).  He first describes the context of the Renaissance as the re-birth of the interest in classical knowledge, a movement which formed the basis of what we now consider the humanities, and he highlights the complexity of how that time period intersects with the Scientific Revolution, with new emphasis on experiment and the scientific method.  He reads scientific texts from past centuries, using his training from the humanities to read them closely in their historic context, and he acknowledges that this is a fundamentally different technique than scientists use in surveying their disciplinary literature when working on an experimental research question.  

These broad points would’ve been extremely helpful with a distractingly key question I had as a science student: why was the language in science textbooks functioning so unusually, compared to my experience with other books?  I still find it striking that the first text I encountered that specifically addressed such a topic used the “lens countervailing” of a non-science-specific viewpoint.  (One of the things I’ve appreciated most about Gould’s book is the way it opened the door to additional reading, which I’ll come back to in a future post, but the word count here is already excessive, even for a summer essay.)  

Find insights routine yet surprising.

Interdisciplinary fields such as the history of science, the philosophy of science, and science communication are well-established.  I am aware that what I have found to be surprising realizations throughout my narrower, chemistry-specific career path constitute routine knowledge to scholars in these areas!  I do think, though, that contextualizing points do have immense capacity to stand out to students in a given chemistry lesson, and as such, I have found it rewarding to supplement my chem-textbook-centric presentations with some of this broader information, over the past several years.

Categories
Science and Poetry

Model Behavior

The fox and the hedgehog, contrasting;
Their styles: diverse or steadfast-ing.  
As models, find analog
In varied course catalogs 
And image in efforts’ forecasting.  

The second of these July 2025 poems recounts a helpful historical model that I’ve encountered in reading and art, which helps stand in for aspects of academic exploration across the sciences and the humanities.  (For this and the remaining July poems, I’ll expand a bit past my typical 280-word limit; I could probably use more prose in exploring these complex topics!)      

The fox and the hedgehog, contrasting;
Their styles: diverse or steadfast-ing.

I was intrigued to read about a blend of art, history, and science in a summer exhibition at the National Gallery of Art, looking at Joris Hoefnagel’s (1542-1601) nature paintings.  One of the pictures caught my eye, as I have enjoyed for several years reading and teaching from a book by Stephen Jay Gould with a version of the central metaphor (presented via Latin inscription in the painting): “The fox has many tricks, but the hedgehog has one great trick.”    

The painting and Gould’s book (The Hedgehog, the Fox, and the Magister’s Pox) each allude to a fable many centuries older.  The central theme is that a fox uses many different strategies to achieve its many different goals, while a hedgehog has a single, very effective approach, of rolling into a ball, to achieve its own goal of safety. 

This image has been used through millennia, stemming first from a poem by the Greek poet Archilochus (680-645 B.C.), which was then celebrated widely much more recently, in a 1953 book by philosopher Isaiah Berlin, noting how different historical figures used “hedgehog” or “fox” approaches in their lives.  

Gould emphasizes throughout his own book that he is not saying that one “animal” corresponds with sciences and the other with the humanities, but rather that the two styles– both creative flexibility and resolute tenacity– are useful at different times in both fields.    

As models, find analog /
In varied course catalogs…

Since encountering Gould’s book, it has been a helpful exercise to consider these different approaches to academia.  Looking back at graduate school, for instance, I can see how it involved broad coursework in several chemistry labs and lectures (paralleling the fox) and intensive study of a primary research area (paralleling the hedgehog) for the thesis.  Teaching is likewise an undeniable blend of the two styles: preparing lecture slides involves some hedgehog-like review and writing, while the fox approach echoes in the actual classroom, where a variety of explanations are necessary to communicate with a variety of students.  

And image in efforts’ forecasting.

I expect that I will return to this central image and book a few times in the remaining July essays (“efforts’ forecasting”), given both the usefulness of the metaphor and Gould’s insightful discussions of the history of the sciences and the humanities. 

Categories
Science and Poetry

At Cross Purposes

From walking, a caution first-wary  
Invites retroactive quote-query 
When re-punctuated:
Ideas curated 
T’ward efforts cross-disciplinary. 

We’ve reached July yet again, and so it’s again been fun to think about a summer series of posts that center on a common theme.  

This summer, I am interested in revisiting the overlap of science and the humanities that had inspired last year’s two conference talks, looking in greater depth at my own experiences in interdisciplinary teaching over the past several years, with some more time to do so.  

From walking, a caution first-wary…

This first limerick is inspired by the sign that I have often seen on a nearby trail: as shown, it reads “AVOID COLLISIONS / NO STOPPING / ON BRIDGE.”

Although the syllables used do not match this format, its three lines and evocative theme always make me think of a haiku.  The text consistently reminds me of some of the challenges and opportunities in the interdisciplinary courses I teach, which bridge from chemistry to another area, such as art or literature: they are rewarding opportunities, but perpetual, thoughtful planning is vital in avoiding “collisions.”

Invites retroactive quote-query /
When re-punctuated…

Seeing the sign repeatedly over the years in its neutral presentation, I’ve often imagined a different interpretation: reading it in reverse and adding in some punctuation, creating a disciplinary crosswalk of sorts.  Ultimately, use caution, but proceed: “Bridge on!  Stopping?  No!  Collisions, avoid.” Such a read is reversed and re-punctuated, and the resulting query stems from the original quote.  

(Alternatively, depending on how directly these potential interdisciplinary debates were invited, I could imagine yet another read: “Avoid collisions?  No!  Stopping on bridge!”  I see in this version an active invitation to the beneficial challenges such conversations can bring, if approached constructively.)

The revised interpretations summarize my interest in interdisciplinary work, as well as my awareness of attendant potential “collisions.”   

Ideas curated /
T’ward efforts cross-disciplinary. 

Different disciplines are often portrayed “at cross-purposes,” as in the title’s referenced idiom, but it is also interesting to consider the purposeful possibility of crossing the bridges between them. These July 2025 essays will thus collate and curate some related ideas from the past several years.   

Categories
Science Poetry

Closing Rhyme

“The month and its practice now closing:
One last set of lines here composing; 
The April routine, 
As the poems convene,
Yielding busy month’s moments engrossing.”

The 30 April 2024 Twitter limerick marks the end of NaPoWriMo2024, and we have reached the last week of spring semester classes here.    

“The month and its practice now closing: /
One last set of lines here composing…”

Reaching this landmark each spring always means a shorter translation essay than the last few, since it’s a fairly transparent topic!  April 30 marks the end of National Poetry Writing Month, so this limerick was the last in 2024.  

(It is also my last Twitter post entirely; I shifted to Bluesky as of December and have been working towards this month’s routine in that new location.)

“The April routine, /
As the poems convene, /
Yielding busy month’s moments engrossing.”   

2019 was my first year in completing this April routine.  I have learned a great deal in continuing the practice over the last several years: it has provided good chances to finally resolve vocabulary questions I always wondered about; to finally learn the stories of the scientists whose insights formed the substance of the textbooks I’d used for years. 

April also lines up with a particularly stressful time of the school year, so that I welcome any “moments engrossing” that can be distinct from year-ending responsibilities and tasks.  

***

Along those lines, as in previous years: while I look forward to writing some summer essays, I will take a break here for a few weeks, to celebrate the end of another busy spring semester. 

Categories
Science Poetry

Wax Eloquent

In art form creative and elegant,
A use of chem properties prevalent…
If error avoided, 
Then product ovoid is
Example of wax resist, eloquent!  

This non-Twitter/Bluesky poem commemorates a fascinating art process I was introduced to last spring: the technique behind making pysanky.  (Since the concepts are still relatively new to me, I doubt my ability to be succinct and remain clear: I’ll plan to keep my word limit at 560 words this time.)      

“In art form creative and elegant…”

I was lucky to attend a pysanka workshop on campus in Spring 2024 to learn about this creative and elegant artwork from Ukrainian culture.  (Pysanka is the singular form of the word; pysanky is the plural.) To sum up any process in an introductory blog post does not do it credit, so I’ll add in some pertinent links here.  

In brief, a design is painted on the egg in beeswax, using a stylus that can deliver the wax in a thin line, and the egg is then dyed a color.  These two steps are repeated over several layers.  At the close of the process, all the wax is melted off, ultimately yielding an egg dyed in a variety of colors.  My own amateur attempts are shown here, but I recommend seeking out other images, as the resulting designs can be astoundingly intricate.     

“A use of chem properties prevalent…”  

I was quite interested in exploring the underlying chemistry that made this possible.  While I am still learning, it has seemed likely so far that the dyes used are examples of acid dyes: they are water-soluble and contain functional groups such as carboxylic acids or sulfonic acids that can donate a proton in water, so that the dye molecule takes on a negative charge.  Opposite charges attract, forming strong ionic bonds: thus, the negatively-charged dye then works well with protein-based compounds, which are also water-soluble and can form positively-charged species in the acidic dye bath.  

Eggshells consist of calcium carbonate and proteins, so they work well with acid dyes.    However, beeswax is resistant to such interactions, because it has a primarily hydrocarbon structure, being made of long-chain esters.  It is not water-soluble, and it does not have functional groups that can react with water to form anything charged, so it does not bond to an acid dye.  

Inherent in the art process are thus a variety of chemical properties of the materials used, such as solubility, miscibility, acid-base reactivity, and bonding.                 

“If error avoided, /
Then product ovoid is /
Example of wax resist, eloquent!”  

I was intrigued throughout the evening by how challenging and invigorating this “experiment” was. 

It was necessary to continually aim to create a negative image: the first area covered with wax would preserve the white of the eggshell. After the first dye layer was applied, the second area covered with wax would then preserve the color of the first dye. After the second dye layer was applied, the third area covered with wax would then preserve the color of the second dye, and so on.  

I found myself strongly reminded of the retrosynthesis problems I had worked decades before in Organic Chemistry, thinking backward one step at a time, all the way back to the starting material: here, the egg itself.  (My own endeavors were quite simple, but expert pysanka artists use a variety of symbols and designs with a wealth of meaning.)  

This was in addition to the many practical challenges involved in working with the set-up, since it relied on eggs, dyes, wax, and flames, all providing ample room for error!  However, even in my initial attempts, I was quite pleased to see the “product ovoid.”  

In researching the technique afterwards, I have likewise been interested to learn more about wax resist generally, seeing the principles that make such processes work from an artistic perspective.  (The “wax eloquent” phrase has been on my mind over the past year, given the intricacy and beauty of the sample pysanky that were shared at the 2024 workshop.)

Categories
Science Poetry

Myriad Meanings

“A myria-myrio mystery—
Some prefixes, lost now to history:
These factors, past-metric,
Deemed over-eclectic
In measured decision’s delivery.”  

The 29 April 2024 Twitter limerick summarized what had been a newfound discovery for me last spring– that the list of metric prefixes commonly used in science used to be longer. As ever, I find it frustrating that time constraints and coverage expectations preclude the discussion of such points in coursework, but it is a good opportunity to explore the story here.     

“A myria-myrio mystery— / 
Some prefixes, lost now to history…” 

The metric prefixes are enormously useful aspects of scientific communication, allow us to easily communicate measurements expressed in the International System (SI units) on a variety of scales.  Distances between towns on a map are generally expressed in kilometers (km), which means 103 meters; the metric prefix kilo stands in for 103, or 1000.  Atomic sizes are expressed in picometers (pm), which means 10-12 meters; the metric prefix pico stands in for 10-12, so showing that order of magnitude would otherwise, inconveniently, require eleven zeroes before the 1.              

The prefix myrio, also expressed myria, indicated the order of 10,000 (104).  While it was used with the SI units for several centuries, it was eliminated from usage at the General Conference on Weights and Measures in 1960, where the SI units were adopted internationally.  Such prefixes are “lost now to history,” as the accepted metric prefixes now jump from kilo (103) to mega (106).     

“These factors, past-metric, /
Deemed over-eclectic /
In measured decision’s delivery.” 

For myrio specifically, the reason for its removal seems to have been aspirational clarity in metric abbreviations.  The prefix myrio/myria had historically been abbreviated as my.  As the metric prefixes were standardized, scientists moved towards abbreviating all the metric prefixes with single letters for simplicity (as noted above, kilometers are km, and picometers are pm).  The letter M is already used in both its capital (M for mega, or 106) and lower-case (m for milli, or 10-3) forms, so that myrio and myria would be “over-eclectic.”  

The discussion at the pertinent metrology conference could presumably be characterized as a “measured decision” in a few ways. 

Categories
Science Poetry

Chemical Compositions

“Musical, chemical:
Alex P. Borodin’s
Ideas, composed, 
Address multiple goals.  
Aldol reactions,
Symphonic protractions,
With staged reenactions
As kismet unfolds.” 

The 28 April 2024 Twitter poem was a pseudo-double-dactyl that highlighted the career of Alexander Porfiryevich Borodin (1833-1887), famous in the worlds of both chemistry and music.  

“Musical, chemical: /
Alex P. Borodin’s /
Ideas, composed, / 
Address multiple goals…” 

One of my common themes here is the unexpected difficulty in a typical chemistry curriculum of learning about the underlying stories of the scientists or concepts involved.  This poem celebrates a case in point.  

Alexander Borodin’s findings were foundational to much of the organic chemistry I learned as a student.  He also composed several musical works.  However, it was only years later, in listening to a classical music radio station, that I first heard Borodin’s name and the fact that he was also famous as a chemist.       

“Aldol reactions, /
Symphonic protractions, / 
With staged reenactions…”

The chemistry concept for which Borodin is most remembered is the aldol reaction, for which he is cited as an independent co-discoverer (along with Charles Aldophe Wurtz) in the late nineteenth century.  

The aldol reaction forms a product that contains both ALDehyde and alcohOL functional groups.  Since the aldol reaction also forms a new carbon-carbon bond, it can significantly expand the size of a molecule, a fact which is exceedingly useful to organic chemists working to build important compounds or replicate them in the lab.  Many scientists have used this synthetic step towards various targets.            

The musical works for which Borodin is most remembered are compositions of significant length, such as symphonies and operas (“symphonic protractions, with staged reenactions”).      

“As kismet unfolds.” 

The most unexpected detail I learned in brainstorming for this poem last year was that the musical Kismet, which won the 1954 Tony for Best Musical, is based on melodies from Borodin’s compositions.  Just as the aldol reaction casts a long shadow in organic chemistry, Borodin’s musical legacy has inspired several subsequent generations. 

Categories
STEM Education Poetry

Word Limits

Through semester’s course and duration,
Acknowledge the check of narration:
The concepts we’ve pitched here
Are always abridged—
Nearer essence of lecture: curation.  

This is a non-Twitter/Bluesky poem that I wrote a few years ago.  I think of its themes increasingly often in the courses I teach, given that many of them are introductory.  It seems worth taking some time this week to expand/explore these lines, as the end of the semester emerges in view (ever so slightly), on the horizon.       

“Through semester’s course and duration, /
Acknowledge the check of narration…”  

The constraints of an introductory textbook mean that a textbook entitled Chemistry at best covers a significant portion of what chemists would agree on as the fundamental concepts, at the time of its writing, for an introduction to beginning students. 

The constraints of a 55-minute class period mean that a small percentage of THOSE concepts are communicated synchronously there, once a professor has chosen a textbook to use for their course. 

Given infinite time and undivided attention, I suspect that anyone would teach their subject in a different way; as that’s far from the case, we each have “check[s] on narration,” in preparing our courses.

“The concepts we’ve pitched here /
Are always abridged…”

I emphasize to my students that the coverage of a chemistry curriculum is iterative.  The concepts in an introductory course are significantly abridged compared to the substance of the discipline itself; it is expected for the material to seem overwhelming on a first pass.    

“Nearer essence of lecture: curation.”

I remember a workshop early in my teaching career where a senior colleague from a different department, in an illuminating side comment, described their approach as “curation.”  They noted that, with the ubiquity of the internet, their teaching had fundamentally changed: they saw one of their main class-time roles now as highlighting the most illustrative online resources via which a student could further explore a discipline on their own.

While the disciplinary content of chemistry is significantly different, I do think the ability of a class session to “curate” the most crucial concepts and techniques to understand, from an otherwise-immense amount of textbook material, is analogous.

Categories
Science Poetry

Trees’ Company

“I think that verse shall never serve 
To summarize botanic verve 
With which the trees persist, delight—
But: given day, four lines I’ll write.”

The 26 April 2024 Twitter poem was an homage to Joyce Kilmer’s “Trees,” which famously begins: “I think that I shall never see/ A poem lovely as a tree…”  

“I think that verse shall never serve 
To summarize botanic verve…” 

I originally wrote this quick verse simply as an Arbor Day celebration, knowing the original lines themselves and imagining some additional rhymes possible with their memorable meter. 

Botany is a field I wish I knew more about, but I’ve greatly enjoyed and appreciated the eloquent writing for general audiences in Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass, Beronda Montgomery’s Lessons from Plants, Hope Jahren’s Lab Girl, and other books.  Moreover, in an intriguing inversion of the way chemistry vocabulary can keep many challenging chemistry concepts doubly hidden, it is inspiring how the “botanic verve” of newfound spring weather keeps the trees themselves front and center, defying the layer of technical jargon.   

“With which the trees persist, delight—
But: given day, four lines I’ll write.”

Along those lines, one of my early memories of science classwork is of collecting and classifying specimens for a seventh-grade leaf collection, many years ago.  

Looking through it now, my first thought is of the significant preserving power of contact paper!  My second impression is the rueful memory of the points missing for my failing to italicize the Latin names of the trees from which these leaves came.  But finally, more lastingly, I also can appreciate that in the decades since this project, I have been far more likely to remember the shape and color of Quercus rubra (northern red oak) or Acer saccharinum (silver maple) than the grade deduction: indeed, the “trees persist [and] delight.”     

***

As often happens in revisiting the poem for these essays, I found the story behind the scenes to be more complex than I initially would have guessed. 

Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918) was an American writer and poet who died at age 31, fighting in World War 1.  “Trees,” which had been written in 1914, remains his most famous poem, and his name is commemorated by forests, schools, libraries, and parks across the United States.  

Consisting of several distinctive rhyming couplets, the poem itself is famous enough to have its own Wikipedia page.  Many locations have apparently claimed “the” tree that inspired the famous work, but Kilmer’s son Keaton later wrote to a researcher: “Mother and I agreed, when we talked about it, that Dad never meant his poem to apply to one particular tree, or to the trees of any special region. Just any trees or all trees that might be rained on or snowed on, and that would be suitable nesting places for robins. I guess they’d have to have upward-reaching branches, too, for the line about ‘lifting leafy arms to pray.’ Rule out weeping willows.”   

I found it surprising and moving to contrast the longevity of Kilmer’s poem with the brevity of his own life.  As ever, similarly, it is striking to consider the difference in lifetimes between human beings and trees: the vastly different timescales present every time anyone takes a walk in a forest.   

Categories
writing

Occasional Poetry

Reactions, reflections, equations;
Post marks an auspicious occasion
With sestercentennial
From practice perennial 
Achieved in the latest summation.  

This is a non-Twitter/Bluesky poem, newly written this month, in honor of the fact that this is my 250th post on this site!  Since this is also the spring break week of the semester, it seemed like a good point to pause and celebrate.       

Reactions, reflections, equations…

Chemical reactions, reflections on teaching, and mathematical equations have all been centered in these various poems and “translations,” over the past few years.    

Post marks an auspicious occasion…

With my typical limit of 280 words per poem translation, 250 posts at that average word count would be 70,000 words, which a Google estimate places at 280 pages: tough to believe.  This website has been a welcome addition to my academic routine since late January 2020, so I’ve likewise passed my fifth anniversary of writing here, relatively recently.    

With sestercentennial /
From practice perennial… 

The overall project technically began in the previous spring, in April 2019, with its overlap of National Poetry Writing Month and the International Year of the Periodic Table.  The latter designation had arisen because it was the 150th year since Dmitri Mendeleev’s publication of his precursor to the modern Periodic Table of the Elements (PTE).  That occasion was where I learned the term “sesquicentennial” (for 150 years, since Mendeleev’s PTE was developed in 1869); I similarly learned “sestercentennial” this week in thinking through potential vocabulary for this post.  (I am not sure the term is as accurately deployed in a numbering scheme for 250, but its metric fit was not to be denied.)      

Achieved in the latest summation.  

This latest essay marks my 250th post.  “Occasional poetry” seemed a good title here, since it technically refers to poems written for a special occasion.  I’ve also liked it as a descriptor of my writing routine since beginning my posts several years ago.  That routine still involves much standard academic prose– lecture notes, grant proposals, journal articles, countless emails– but also now, occasionally, poetry.