Many poems are written of baseball; a few of them involve mathematics -- see the posting for April 9, 2010 for math-related baseball poems by Marianne Moore (1877-1972) and Jerry Wemple; see the posting for September 18, 2011 for one by Jonathan Holden.
Today I feature the opening stanza from a baseball poem by Pennsylvania poet, Le Hinton.
from Our Ballpark by Le Hinton
This is the place where my father educated us:
an open-air school of tutelage and transformation.
This is where we first learned
to count to three, then later to calculate the angle
of a line drive bouncing off the left field wall.
We studied the geometry and appreciated the ballet
of third to second to first, a triple play.
. . .
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Earth Day -- April 22, 2015
Consider today the thoughtful words of this sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950):
Read history: so learn your place in Time
And go to sleep: all this was done before;
We do it better, fouling every shore;
We disinfect, we do not probe, the crime.
Our engines plunge into the seas, they climb
Above our atmosphere: we grow not more
Profound as we approach the ocean's floor;
Our flight is lofty, it is not sublime.
Yet long ago this Earth by struggling men
Was scuffed, was scraped by mouths that bubbled mud;
And will be so again, and yet again;
Until we trace our poison to its bud
And root, and there uproot it: until then,
Earth will be warmed each winter by man's blood.
These lines are found on my shelf in Collected Sonnets (Revised and Expanded Edition) by Edna St. Vincent Millay (Harper & Row, 1988). AND, recall the arithmetic of a sonnet: 14 lines (or breaths) and 5 iambs (or heartbeats) per line.
Read history: so learn your place in Time
And go to sleep: all this was done before;
We do it better, fouling every shore;
We disinfect, we do not probe, the crime.
Our engines plunge into the seas, they climb
Above our atmosphere: we grow not more
Profound as we approach the ocean's floor;
Our flight is lofty, it is not sublime.
Yet long ago this Earth by struggling men
Was scuffed, was scraped by mouths that bubbled mud;
And will be so again, and yet again;
Until we trace our poison to its bud
And root, and there uproot it: until then,
Earth will be warmed each winter by man's blood.
These lines are found on my shelf in Collected Sonnets (Revised and Expanded Edition) by Edna St. Vincent Millay (Harper & Row, 1988). AND, recall the arithmetic of a sonnet: 14 lines (or breaths) and 5 iambs (or heartbeats) per line.
Labels:
arithmetic,
Earth day,
Edna St. Vincent Millay,
sonnet
Sunday, April 19, 2015
April celebrates Math and Poetry
April is National Poetry Month and Mathematics Awareness Month. Yesterday I was able to attend several of the popular and crowded events at the National Math Festival (Here's a link to "A Field Guide to Math on the National Mall" where you can see photos of items pointed out to yesterday's visitors.) and tomorrow evening (April 20) I will be part of a reading that features poetry of math and science at the DC Science Cafe (at Busboys & Poets, 5th &K Streets, 6:30 PM).
For tomorrow evening's reading I intend to wear my red-peppers earrings; one of the poems I will offer will be "A Taste of Mathematics" (from my collection Red Has No Reason and posted in its entirety at this link). Here is the poem's final stanza:
She said, "Hot peppers
are like mathematics —
with strong flavor
that takes over
what they enter."
For tomorrow evening's reading I intend to wear my red-peppers earrings; one of the poems I will offer will be "A Taste of Mathematics" (from my collection Red Has No Reason and posted in its entirety at this link). Here is the poem's final stanza:
She said, "Hot peppers
are like mathematics —
with strong flavor
that takes over
what they enter."
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Remembering Abraham Lincoln
Today -- April 14, 2015 -- marks the 150th birthday of the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln (1809 - 1865) and April 15 is the date on which he died. Lincoln loved poetry and trained his reasoning with Euclid's geometry. Here is a brief sample of his own poetry (found -- along with other samples -- at PoetryFoundation.org).
Abraham Lincoln by Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
his hand and pen
he will be good but
god knows When
From my copy of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass (Signet Classics, 1955), from the section "Memories of Lincoln," I have copied these well-known and thoughtful (and non-mathematical) lines:
Abraham Lincoln by Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
his hand and pen
he will be good but
god knows When
From my copy of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass (Signet Classics, 1955), from the section "Memories of Lincoln," I have copied these well-known and thoughtful (and non-mathematical) lines:
Labels:
Abraham Lincoln,
assassination,
Euclid,
geometry,
mathematics,
poetry,
Walt Whitman
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Time is no straight line . . .
Swedish poet and Nobel Laureate Tomas Transtromer (1931-2015) died last month. At his website I found this poem that reflects on the arithmetic and geometry of life:
Reply to a Letter by Tomas Transtromer
In the bottom drawer I find a letter which arrived for the first time twenty- six years ago. A letter written in panic, which continues to breathe when it arrives for the second time.
A house has five windows; through four of them daylight shines clear and still. The fifth window faces a dark sky, thunder and storm. I stand by the fifth window. The letter.
Reply to a Letter by Tomas Transtromer
In the bottom drawer I find a letter which arrived for the first time twenty- six years ago. A letter written in panic, which continues to breathe when it arrives for the second time.
A house has five windows; through four of them daylight shines clear and still. The fifth window faces a dark sky, thunder and storm. I stand by the fifth window. The letter.
Labels:
arithmetic,
geometry,
infinite,
labyrinth,
life,
line,
Nobel Prize,
Tomas Transtromer
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Man Ray's "Human Equations"
Art lovers in Washington, DC have the opportunity (until 5/10/15) to see, on exhibit at The Phillips Collection, "Man Ray -- Human Equations: A Journey from Mathematics to Shakespeare." I visited the exhibit on February 19 on the occasion of a poetry reading by Rae Armantrout -- she presented work of hers that she felt captured the spirit of Man Ray's work. (Bucknell poet Karl Patten, whom I had as a poetry teacher years ago, insisted that "Every Thing Connects" and, indeed, this is the title of one of the poems in Patten's collection The Impossible Reaches. Both of these phrases that became titles for Patten seem also to describe Man Ray's and Armantrout's work: they have taken seemingly disparate objects and reached across seemingly impossible gaps to relate them. As often happens in mathematics.)
Friday, April 3, 2015
Mathematics and poetry -- are the same ! ! !
Last week the Art Works Blog posted an interview with mathematician, poet, and translator, Enriqueta Carrington. You will want to follow the link and read the whole thing. Here is a paragraph:
quoting Enriqueta Carrington:
quoting Enriqueta Carrington:
Mathematics and poetry are the same thing,
or one is a translation of the other.
Well, perhaps that is an overstatement;
but both math and poetry are about beautiful patterns,
about creating, gazing at, and sharing them,
or one is a translation of the other.
Well, perhaps that is an overstatement;
but both math and poetry are about beautiful patterns,
about creating, gazing at, and sharing them,
and about appreciating those created by others.
It is not necessary to be a great mathematician or a great poet
to enjoy this beauty, as I can tell you from my own experience.
to enjoy this beauty, as I can tell you from my own experience.
Several years ago, at a time near the beginning of this poetry-math blog, in the posting for April 8, 2010, is a pantoum by Carrington. And here is another of hers, this time a Fibonacci poem -- whose lines increase in word-count that matches the first eight Fibonacci numbers: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21.
Labels:
beautiful,
beauty,
Enriqueta Carrington,
Fibonacci,
mathematics,
poetry,
translation
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
April is . . . a time for math and poetry . . .
Once upon a time
I counted to the tenth prime
and found a word to rhyme.
Tomorrow is not only April Fool's Day -- it also begins "National Poetry Month" and "National Mathematics Awareness Month." I hope you will scroll down through this blog for math-poetry intersections -- and that you will like what you find and return for more.
(If you are near Washington, DC, consider a visit to MathFest on Saturday, April 18.)
Sunday, March 29, 2015
Science Verse
Recently coincidence has brought to me two collections of poems about science -- first, the 2014 issue of The Nassau Review, a gift from editor and poet Christina M. Rau. The second collection is a "used" children's book, Science Verse (by John Scieszka and Lane Smith) found at the wonderful Kensington Row Bookshop (scroll down their webpage to find out about their monthly poetry readings). I include below two rhyming stanzas from Science Verse, followed two selections from The Nassau Review 2014 -- a poem by Diane Giardi which is a parody (or isomorphic image) of a nursery rhyme and a poem by Katherine Hauswirth which may or may not consider infinity.
Hey Diddle Diddle
Hey diddle diddle, what kind of riddle
Is this nature of light?
Sometimes it's a wave,
Other times a particle . . .
But which answer will be marked right?
Thursday, March 26, 2015
The problem of time
Californian Brenda Hillman is a poet whose work I like and admire. In "Time Problem" she weaves prime numbers into a deft description of the dilemma of not enough time.
Time Problem by Brenda Hillman
The problem
of time. Of there not being
enough of it.
My girl came to the study
and said Help me;
I told her I had a time problem
which meant:
I would die for you but I don’t have ten minutes.
Numbers hung in the math book
like motel coathangers. The Lean
Cuisine was burning
Time Problem by Brenda Hillman
The problem
of time. Of there not being
enough of it.
My girl came to the study
and said Help me;
I told her I had a time problem
which meant:
I would die for you but I don’t have ten minutes.
Numbers hung in the math book
like motel coathangers. The Lean
Cuisine was burning
Labels:
boundary,
Brenda Hillman,
curve,
factoring,
math,
poem,
Poetry Foundation,
prime,
time
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