Last Saturday, Resident Teen #1 spent the day at a robotics competition.
|Hey, all you robots. Roll your wheels|
over to Jama's Alphabet Soup for
the Poetry Friday roundup.
I stayed to watch the robot action while my husband took Resident Teen #2 to the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. They were performing selections from Holst's "The Planets." It was a geeky kind of day.
Here is "Pluto" from Holst's "The Planets."
This week, the staff of Little Patuxent Review and I have been reading submissions for the journal's upcoming Science issue. As we went over final choices during lunch yesterday, guest editor Lalita Noronha and I couldn't contain our glee. (Read Lalita's poem "The Sea.")
The short stories, essays and poems we received for the issue are an amazing integration of science and literature -- more often than not using science as a way to understand human experience.
Today, I'm sharing two poems from Poetry 180, a project Billy Collins began when he was U.S. Poet Laureate. Both of today's poems use science to explore the way children think, and how that differs from adult logic and adult limitations.
Doug DorphI ask my daughter to name the planets.
"Venus ...Mars ...and Plunis!" she says.
When I was six or seven my father
woke me in the middle of the night.
We went down to the playground and lay
on our backs on the concrete looking up
for the meteors the tv said would shower.
I don't remember any meteors. I remember
my back pressed to the planet Earth,
my father's bulk like gravity next to me,
the occasional rumble from his throat,
the apartment buildings dark-windowed,
the sky close enough to poke with my finger.
Now, knowledge erodes wonder.
As you know, poor Pluto has been downgraded from 9th planet to dwarf planet -- a change that happened while my youngest was in elementary school. How quickly our understanding of the universe can shift!
Cartoon Physics, part 1
Nick FlynnChildren under, say, ten, shouldn't know
that the universe is ever-expanding,
inexorably pushing into the vacuum, galaxies
swallowed by galaxies, whole
solar systems collapsing, all of it
acted out in silence. At ten we are still learning
the rules of cartoon animation,
that if a man draws a door on a rock
only he can pass through it.
Anyone else who tries
will crash into the rock. Ten-year-olds
should stick with burning houses, car wrecks,
ships going down -- earthbound, tangible
where they can be heroes.
Read the rest of the poem at Poetry 180.
|Studying Calvin & Hobbes in Statistical Mechanics!|
Enjoy your Poetry Friday, everyone! Here's a little science and poetry set to music to send you off into your day...