“A new metric month-long ambition! / This seventh attempt at tradition, / With change in the scen’ry / In midst of new green’ry: / A first try as Bluesky edition.”
Classes are now off to their Autumn 2025 start here; with the academic year underway, I’ll return to my weekly posts, translating the poems from the previous April’s National Poetry Writing Month (commonly abbreviated NaPoWriMo).
“A new metric month-long ambition! / This seventh attempt at tradition…”
The first few poems in each NaPoWriMo are generally consistent in theme, especially the first, which simply sets out the month’s goal of writing thirty science-themed poems for the thirty days of April: a “metric month-long ambition.” Since I completed this routine for the first time in April 2019, the 2025 poems marked my seventh attempt.
“With change in the scen’ry / In midst of new green’ry: / A first try as Bluesky edition.”
The April 2025 poems constituted the first set that used Bluesky as the website for the original postings (“first try as Bluesky edition”); they thus reflected “a change in the scen’ry” in the midst of springtime’s “new green’ry.”
This particular poem is quite straightforward, so I’ll keep the word count short, for once. The new set of 2025-2026 essays will provide “August company” (as well as that of September and onward, throughout this new school year!) to the April 2025 poems.
Some big-picture points metaphoric And mentions of themes allegoric; The past-tense adjourning to Present-tense learning, through Look back at chem, set historic.
In this last July 2025 essay, as I note the imminent autumn semester, it’s a constructive exercise to connect some of this summer’s posts to the year ahead, aiming to build on some of these points in teaching.
Some big-picture points metaphoric / And mentions of themes allegoric…
Rediscovering “the hedgehog and the fox” in their artistic context this summer has provided a welcome chance to reflect on some images and readings I’ve found illustrative in my career. It’s also a helpful reminder to consider some “big-picture” points that would have helped me as a student to see directly stated within my home discipline of chemistry, such as the following.
The considerations of what introductory chemistry courses should include are complex and change with time; they are updated every few years based on the careful recommendations of experts in the field. This variation with time is also seen with general education science coursework. An undergraduate student’s curriculum at the university level does not aim solely to maximize content covered in a single field but involves a complex optimization of coursework and logistics across campus.
The history of science is not typically part of a science-specific textbook; the expectation in an intro-level science course is generally that complex disciplinary content will be covered comprehensively to prepare the majority of students, who are non-majors, for future standardized exams and courses in their professionalprograms. (Introductory science courses are often classified as “service courses” because of this, since departments teach such courses in part as a service to other programs.)
Story is a powerful medium for communicating scientific information but also one that presents concerns for many scientists. Translating jargon and learning standardized vocabularies are challenging, important parts of science coursework; these underlying language-learning steps are not often presented with the commentary or scaffolding that disciplinary concepts and calculations are.
Biographies of the scientists whose findings supported pertinent concepts are readily available and can often help illustrate those concepts. Likewise, memoirs of scientists are often superb chances to read about the processes of science, with challenges and benefits detailed in ways not seen in journal articles or textbooks.
The past-tense adjourning to / Present-tense learning, through / Look back at chem, set historic.
I should always emphasize that these are my own takeaways from a career in teaching chemistry, directly distilled into the points and acknowledgements that would have helped me most, personally, as a science student, many years ago. I’m confident that anyone looking back at their own path would find their own set of illuminating moments and sources. However, it has been useful at times to take stock of such material, and looking to the start of the fall semester, with its “present-tense learning,” seems a logical time to do so.
Speaking of that timeline, I’ll give myself a few weeks now to let said semester start up, then return to the “translation” essays for the poems I wrote during April 2025, over the course of the next academic year.
In tandem with themes sci-artistic, The knowledge of hurdles logistic; Curriculum-spanning In course-schedule planning: More prosaic characteristics.
After acknowledging many benefits of interdisciplinary endeavors and learning, my next essay in July 2025 shifts to some of the inherent challenges in such efforts, building on some of the knowledge I gained through a recently completed academic role.
In tandem with themes sci-artistic…
I finished a five-year term of directing an interdisciplinary general education program, just a few weeks ago. I greatly appreciate this program because of my interest in “themes sci-artistic” (i.e., interdisciplinarywork), and I consider myself extremely fortunate to be on a campus that offers such classes. That being said, it also was instructive over the past few years to see how learning goals intersect with logistical realities, at the university level.
The knowledge of hurdles logistic; / Curriculum-spanning / In course-schedule planning…
The central technique from my own computational chemistry research is that of a geometry optimization, a calculation that searches for the best values for the bond lengths and angles in a given molecule, considered by evaluating the resulting energy of that molecule, looking for the optimal geometry over several iterations (attempts). More broadly and metaphorically, it can be characterized as searching for the best possible combination of a number of complex, intersecting variables.
Such an endeavor translates well to curriculum planning: optimizing which classes are offered when, via what variety of departmental contributions, to meet the curricular needs of the greatest number of students. As with computational chemistry, multiple attempts are needed to get to the best possible “structure”: in this case, via a wide array of conversations.
This curricular optimization (“curriculum-spanning in course-schedule planning”) also spotlights some of the hurdles to interdisciplinary cooperation. For instance, many departments rely on Tuesday-Thursday schedules, and many others on Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedules, for their most common courses. More interactive classes like laboratories and studios require lengthy blocks of time that create unusual conflicts across student and faculty schedules. The course schedule then impacts all other aspects of academic life: what times are available for research; who can contribute to a given committee; etc.
Truly collaborative inquiries require the expertise of researchers from multiple disciplines, whose teaching responsibilities generally correspond to multiple departments. Thus, while such collaborations are undeniably laudable goals, pursuing them in an academic setting requires an awareness of several dimensions at once.
More prosaic characteristics.
Compared to conceptual interdisciplinary overlaps, these logistical conversations are more prosaic. However, I’ve found them fascinating as well, as I’ve seen them up close. The idea of curricular “optimization” as an ongoing, iterative process is helpful; each academic year is a chance to aim for a slightly better-laid plan, while acknowledging the immense complexity of the underlying structure.
In further cross-discipline striving Of breadth-versus-depth enterprising, Past mys’tries, detailing Through lens countervailing: Find insights routine yet surprising.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
“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.
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 somepertinentlinkshere.
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.
“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.)
“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).
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.
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.
Chemphasis 
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