Another Science Poem

[goingtothedo]

THE TRUTH

 

 

The dreaming in the mind’s eye shapes our world and thoughts,

As we seek the truth and pattern in the wonders nature-wrought.

We seek the structure in the chaos, the ripple in the flow,

To find the truth that really is the universe we know.

 

Some say all truths are equal truths, one truth is truth belied.

Others “My truth, the only truth, and proof is faith denied”.

Thus minds are held in poverty. Thus souls held in thrall.

We are the first, only perhaps, could seek the truth at all.

 

Once the world was flat for us, the sky a dome of blue,

‘Twas obvious to all, therefore, obviously, it must be true.

 

The world sat on a turtle though I ne’er heard what,

The turtle thought about all this, or on what it might be sat

When asked this question, after thought, a lady once was heard to say,

Young man, no more of that nonsense. It’s turtles all the way!

 

They said a golden chariot of flame would bathe the world in light,

A silver ship would glimmer down, would shimmer down by night.

And gloried poetry seduced once more, with tales, the mind of man

Our world was set amid the spheres of stars and moon and sun.

 

The wandering stars on each were set, each planet to its sphere,

From each there came celestial song, divine for human ear.

This was, they said, the Mind of God, made plain for man to see,

The singing crystal spheres entwined, The Creator’s Harmony.

 

In splendour all Creation would ring in crystal song,

Behold the Music of the Spheres! Seductive, beautiful and wrong.

When a comet passed across the sky, it pierced for all to see,

Each glassy sphere. How was this so? The spheres could not be.

 

 

And now our Voyagers sail the night, in modern oddessey

To where, perhaps, our words and music others then might see.

Perhaps beyond the winds of Sol until, amid the winds anew,

They turned to gaze, behind, within. They saw our world of blue.

 

Our world in lost in vastness. Marvels beyond compare.

No human mind ever conceived the glories truly there.

Miracle enough to live at all, no need, for constructs of the mind.

To see the pale blue dot proclaims the Truth for all of humankind.

[Martin]

...

...

Once the world was flat for us, the sky a dome of blue,

‘Twas obvious to all, therefore, obviously, it must be true.

 

The world sat on a turtle though I ne’er heard what,

The turtle thought about all this, or on what it might be sat

When asked this question, after thought, a lady once was heard to say,

Young man, no more of that nonsense. It’s turtles all the way!

...

 

I like it. It's entertaining in places, and inspiring in places.

 

Your tradtional style rhyming is more enjoyable to read, for me at least, than the more formless "modern" style. Maybe others' views differ

[goingtothedo]

Some like my style, others don't. I've had it said that rhyming is "old-fashioned" and others say otherwise.

 

I do what works for me, and, although it's much more difficult to construct to a rhyme and metre, I like having a structure to work with. It makes you carefully consider what you are trying to say.

 

But mainly I simply enjoy doing this. It's a bonus if others like it too.

[Jean Maxwell]

Beautifull, poetry takes confidence. It opens the door, allows us all a peek inside.

 

I particularly liked the Turtle reference as well, and I agree with the sentiment of rhyme, and meter. The same harmony that entrances us in music makes this style of poetry all the more touching for me.

[goingtothedo]

Thankyou. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

 

I'm currently working on a "Dies Irae" The death of the dinosaurs, but it's uphill work to pull it all together......

[Martin]

Thankyou. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

 

I'm currently working on a "Dies Irae" The death of the dinosaurs, but it's uphill work to pull it all together......

 

I recall from a lecture back in the early 1990s by a "cladistics" evolutionary biology expert that at least back then the mainstream view was you couldn't make sense of the evolutionary tree unless you considered birds to be dinosaurs

 

that is, dinosaurs actually survived

but only the avian branch of them.

I think this may be common opinion or knowledge nowadays. People who read more about it may take this for granted. You may know.

 

So my oversimplified picture (if that actually is the mainstream view) would be that there is this horrendous BANNGGG!!! fire and smoke covers the earth

and "next morning" you hear tweet-tweet and you look out and the sun is coming thru and there are birds left over.

 

so one of my satisfactions (as the descendant of insect eating tree-shrews) is eating fried chicken and knowing that I am really dining on dinosaur.

[goingtothedo]

Yes I'm taking the bird/dinosaur thing as read.

 

The problem with this sort of thing is that scientific language and poetic language do not necessarily overlap. So for example, I've tried a couple of times to do a pice on evolution; but you just try to find a graceful rhyme for "prokaryotic"....

[Martin]

Yes I'm taking the bird/dinosaur thing as read.

 

The problem with this sort of thing is that scientific language and poetic language do not necessarily overlap. So for example, I've tried a couple of times to do a pice on evolution; but you just try to find a graceful rhyme for "prokaryotic"....

 

Use the nous, instead of the adjective.

 

Prokaryotes rhymes with goats.

[goingtothedo]

Was "nous" intentional?

 

Think I prefer "nous" to "noun", but it works either way....

 

A poetic goat......... Mmmmmmmm.....

[Martin]

BTW are you male or female---I'm partly genderblind and it occurred to me just now to ask.

I meant noun

[goingtothedo]

Am female. The icon is of me about two years ago.

[Martin]

Am female. The icon is of me about two years ago.

 

that's nice, females are my favorite. I'm thinking that a special genre of science poem is Astro-poetry. You did a christmas astro-poem.

 

It is a special genre, we should collect examples. there is a fine rhyming one by Richard Wilbur called The Field

 

there is a good, also rhyming one, by Robert Frost called Something Like A Star. I will get samples to show you and anyone else interested what they are like.

 

Choose Something Like a Star

 

by Robert Frost - 1947

 

O Star (the fairest one in sight),

We grant your loftiness the right

To some obscurity of cloud --

It will not do to say of night,

Since dark is what brings out your light.

Some mystery becomes the proud.

But to be wholly taciturn

In your reserve is not allowed.

 

Say something to us we can learn

By heart and when alone repeat.

Say something! And it says "I burn."

But say with what degree of heat.

Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.

Use language we can comprehend.

Tell us what elements you blend.

 

It gives us strangely little aid,

But does tell something in the end.

And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,

Not even stooping from its sphere,

It asks a little of us here.

It asks of us a certain height,

So when at times the mob is swayed

To carry praise or blame too far,

We may choose something like a star

To stay our minds on and be staid.

 

=============

 

I'd say that this is not defining itself as a conspicuously Science poem, but it is sensitive to astronomical reality, sensitive to nature. And it rather grandly ignores ignores the split between two cultures. You can know about Keats and you can know about Centigrade---no conflict, no problem. You can translate between a moral ideal and a fixed direction in the sky---and *find both things mysterious*, find mystery in both morality and natural science and defy specialization. OK.

 

==============

the Wilbur poem talks about going out in a field at night with a friend stargazing recognizing many constellations----"grand kept appointments in the sky"---and then noticing Antares in Scorpio, a red giant roasting its planets and they kind of shudder, because of the fragility of life, and then the next morning they come out and the field is all wildflowers, and he has a moment of triumphant faith in life in the face even of an exploding hand grenade (Wilbur was in the WW2 infantry in France)

 

the point of the poem is again moral, but it is inspired by nature and by detailed scientific knowledge of nature (I think that is the key, a poet with a scientist's knowledge who is not afraid to be inspired by it)

======quote========

...

the heart’s wish for life, which, staking here

In the least field an endless claim,

Beats on from sphere to sphere,”

 

 

And pounds beyond the sun,

Where nothing less peremptory can go,

And is ourselves, and is the one

Unbounded thing we know.

===endquote===

to summarize:

the heart's wish for life

is ourselves and

is the only thing without limits that we know

[goingtothedo]

Yes, I love science poetry and particularly what you term "astro-poetry", but it is kinda hard to find the good ones.

 

I prefer the hard science approach to such things, but am not averse to taking a very emotional and intuitve approach either.

 

I've added below another one I did a few years ago when I went to watch a full lunar eclipse on Pendle Hill. Doubtless you don't know Pendle Hill, but it is famous in this country as the site of witch trials in the 17th century. There was even a book written "Mist over Pendle". Very spooky being there at night. Even in the day, its so high and desolate, but very open. You can see the sea thirty miles away on a clear day. Pendle Hill has serious "Spirit of Place".

 

So I include the below as part of the "astro-poetry" thing, but I wouldn't like anyone to read into it that I believe in witches or demons.....

 

Eclipse over Pendle

 

The Dark lays still o’er Pendle Hill,

Full moon shining, frost lays starkly

Vapour rises, Magics’ guises,

The soul of the mountain whispers darkly.

 

Shimmer moon shine down,

Night’s the beauty, yours the glory,

Glimmer moon shine down,

Retell once more the ancient story.

 

The silence speaks of demon sleep

And long dead warlock, mage or druid

Waking tonight. Sorcerous unlight,

And ancient glamours now unguarded

 

Shimmer moon. Shine down

The circle marred, Shadow encroaching

Glimmer moon. Shine down,

Ware the spell, darkness approaching

 

Luna’s disc gleams through the mist,

Her maiden’s face the sky caresses

Her age old eyes have seen the signs

Of Albion, Wicca and Lyonesse

 

Blaze stars and shine

Umbric darkness in the gaining

Brazen stars and I

Watch lunatic shadow in the making

 

The Dark lays still on Pendle Hill

It’s perfection bids my silence

The darkness reigns, as foreordained

Wordless sentience gathers presence

 

Cold, Dark. And I,

Benumbed await occult conclusion

Old stars and I, tranced

Await moonstruck possession

 

Returned to day, the Spirit lays,

The presence drops once more to slumber,

The hills and plains, Pendle’s demesne,

In sunshine. Night now ill-remembered

 

Shine sun, shine down,

O’er hill and valley, field and deeping

Shine sun shine down,

On Colossus, only sleeping