I mentioned this some time ago when I posted my Fibonacci sequence poem. So, silly but here you go. My second response to an old math/science themed poem challenge, based on an even older promise my calculus teacher made that every calculus student was allowed to go and stomp on Isaac Newton’s grave.
Tag Archives: math
Okay, now this is an *old* poem that I confessed I’d written after someone had asked me if I was familiar with the fibonacci sequence, since it related so well to the ammonites I like to work with. I mostly get the basics but can’t think of a concise way to sum up the importance of the sequence, so I’m cheating and linking to the wikipedia article and a really fun Khan academy video on doodling and spirals and Fibonacci, sorry.
Short explanation, we were given an assignment to write a math and/or science poem. So, being me, I couldn’t decide and did one on the sequence, trying to create an image of its visual impact in a poem where each line contains the number in syllables. (The other was about stamping on Newton’s grave.)
rose vines, tightening.
the snail in his spiral shelter.
seeds, corkscrewing, maximum life in minimum space.
magical, methodic, unwinding from the center; distance growing greater with every turn.
a silken snake, ready to strike; divine division, a treasure map of beauty’s proportions;
logarithms trapped in the equiangular coils of nature.
(A day early, so you can prepare your pies!)
by Wislawa Szymborska
three point one four one.
All the following digits are also just a start,
five nine two because it never ends.
It can’t be grasped, six five three five , at a glance,
eight nine, by calculation,
seven nine, through imagination,
or even three two three eight in jest, or by comparison
four six to anything
two six four three in the world.
The longest snake on earth ends at thirty-odd feet.
Same goes for fairy tale snakes, though they make it a little longer.
The caravan of digits that is pi
does not stop at the edge of the page,
but runs off the table and into the air,
over the wall, a leaf, a bird’s nest, the clouds, straight into the sky,
through all the bloatedness and bottomlessness.
Oh how short, all but mouse-like is the comet’s tail!
How frail is a ray of starlight, bending in any old space!
Meanwhile two three fifteen three hundred nineteen
my phone number your shirt size
the year nineteen hundred and seventy-three sixth floor
number of inhabitants sixty-five cents
hip measurement two fingers a charade and a code,
in which we find how blithe the trostle sings!
and please remain calm,
and heaven and earth shall pass away,
but not pi, that won’t happen,
it still has an okay five,
and quite a fine eight,
and all but final seven,
prodding and prodding a plodding eternity